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DETECTIVE STORIES
EDITED HY
J.WALKER McSPADDEN


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THE BEQUEST OF
WINWARD PRESCOTT
CLASS OF 1909


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The "Mystery" Library
EDITED BY
J. WALKER McSPADDEN
FAMOUS GHOST STORIES
FAMOUS PSYCHIC STORIES
FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
In Preparation
FAMOUS MYSTERY STORIES
A Library of quite unusual tales
culled from the most powerful writers,
chiefly American, English, and French.
Each book contains special introduction.
Thomas Y. Crowell Co., New York


FAMOUS
DETECTIVE STORIES
EDITED BY
J. WALKER McSPADDEN
Editor of "Famous Ghost Stories"
Author of "Opera Synopses," etc.
NEW YORK
THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS


L .' i J v r .:. . a 7. / "3
HARVARD COLLEGE LIBRARY
BEQUEST OF
WINWARD PRESCOTT
JANUARY 27, 1933
Copyright, 1920
By THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY
MICROFILMED
AT HARVARD


INTRODUCTION
Originally planned as a companion volume to
"Famous Ghost Stories," which has seemed to strike
a responsive chord with the reading public — this
collection of " Detective Stories " speedily proved to
the editor its right to exist on its own account. At
the same time there is a subtle bond of sympathy
between ghost and detective tales. Both deal with
the problem of mystery; both stimulate the imagina-
tion. With the former class, the mystery may never
be solved; while with the latter, its solution is a ne-
cessary ingredient.
However, as the work upon the detective tales
progressed — involving the reading of many times
the number of stories included within this volume —
the editor was impressed more and more with the
richness of this particular vein of literature. And
he believes that every reader will share the feeling.
Even those readers who have already been in the
habit of perusing a good detective yarn to pass away
the time — and the number of such readers is legion
—, may not have stopped to consider the wealth and
high quality of literary output falling under this
general title. Since the time of Edgar Allan Poe,
who is regarded as the father of the school, the list
of writers has included some of the ablest masters of
the short story.


vi INTRODUCTION
Because Poe was the pioneer, we have begun the
present series with his famous " The Purloined Let-
ter," which may be paraphrased as " the triumph of
the obvious." Poe's genius in this line was abun-
dantly demonstrated in his "Murders in the Rue
Morgue," and was first recognized by the French,
more than one of whom frankly imitated him.
Perhaps the ablest of his disciples in France was
Gaboriau, whose outstanding character is M. Lecoq.
The latter's adventures fill several large volumes,
which have long since passed through several English
editions; the most popular being "File No. 113"
(alluding to the number of a criminal case on the
police docket). We have been forced by space lim-
itations to quote only one chapter from this book, but
it is a complete episode in itself, and reveals Lecoq's
powers of reasoning and deduction — a method that
was raised to the nth power by Conan Doyle's famous
detective, Sherlock Holmes. It is true that Holmes
fleers somewhat ungraciously, in one of his adven-
tures, upon the more ponderous Lecoq, but their
modus operandi is essentially the same. In "A
Scandal in Bohemia " we witness a typical adventure
of Dr. Watson's astute friend.
In his " New Arabian Nights," Stevenson turned
his hand at adventures of involved plot and counter-
plot, although without the guiding genius of a cen-
tral sleuth. One such story touched, as are all, by
the magic of his inimitable style, is here included.
Among more recent writers, Sax Rohmer has at-
tracted wide attention in England and America by the
grotesque and bizarre types he presents. In his


viii INTRODUCTION
to Robert M. McBride, for permission to use the
story by Sax Rohmer; to the publishers of the
Metropolitan Magazine, for the Broughton Bran-
denburg story; to Charles Scribners' Sons, for the
Hornung material; to Doubleday, Page & Com-
pany for extracts from the works of Maurice Le
Blanc and Thomas W. Hanshew; and to Harper and
Brothers for other kind permissions.
J. W. McS.
Montclair, N. J.,
May 13, 1920.


CONTENTS
PAGE
- The Purloined Letter .... Edgar Allan Poe . . . i
An Interview with M. Lecoq . Emile Gaboriau ... 29
-A Scandal in Bohemia . . . A. Conan Doyle ... 57
The Adventure of the Hansom
Cabs Robert Louis Stevenson . 93
The Adventure of the Toadstools Sax Rohmer . . . .121
Gentlemen and Players . . . E. W. Hornung . . . 139
■ The Black Hand Arthur B. Reeve . ■ .167
The Grotto Spectre .... Anna Katherine Green . 199
The Mystery of the Steel Disk Broughton Brandenburg . 233
The Sign of the Shadow . . . Maurice Le Blanc . . .261
The Mystery of the Steel Room Thomas W. Hanshew . . 293


K
« ..


THE PURLOINED LETTER
By Edgar Allan Poe
At Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the
autumn of 18 —, I was enjoying the twofold luxury
of meditation and a meerschaum, in company with
my friend, C. Auguste Dupin, in his little back
library, or book-closet, au troisieme, No. 33, Rue
Dunot, Faubourg Saint Germain. For one hour at
least we had maintained a profound silence; while
each, to any casual observer, might have seemed
intently and exclusively occupied with the curling
eddies of smoke that oppressed the atmosphere of
the chamber. For myself, however, I was mentally
discussing certain topics which had formed matter
for conversation between us at an earlier period of
the evening; I mean the affair of the Rue Morgue,
and the mystery attending the murder of Marie
Roget. I looked upon it, therefore, as something
of a coincidence, when the door of our apartment
was thrown open and admitted our old acquaintance,
Monsieur G , the Prefect of the Parisian police.
We gave him a hearty welcome; for there was
nearly half as much of the entertaining as of the
contemptible about the man, and we had not seen
him for several years. We had been sitting in the
l


^ FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
dark, and Dupin now arose for the purpose of light-
ing a lamp, but sat down again without doing so,
upon G 's saying that he had called to consult
us, or rather to ask the opinion of my friend, about
some official business which had occasioned a great
deal of trouble.
"If it is any point requiring reflection," observed
Dupin, as he forbore to enkindle the wick, "we
shall examine it to better purpose in the dark."
"This is another of your odd notions," said the
Prefect, who had a fashion of calling everything
"odd " that was beyond his comprehension, and thus
lived amid an absolute legion of " oddities."
"Very true," said Dupin, as he supplied his visitor
with a pipe, and rolled towards him a comfortable
chair.
"And what is the difficulty now?" I asked.
"Nothing more in the assassination way, I hope?"
"Oh, no; nothing of that nature. The fact is, the
business is very simple indeed, and I make no doubt
that we can manage it sufficiently well ourselves; but
then I thought Dupin would like to hear the details
of it, because it is so excessively odd."
"Simple and odd," said Dupin.
"Why, yes; and not exactly that, either. The
fact is, we have all been a good deal puzzled because
the affair is so simple, and yet baffles us altogether."
"Perhaps it is the very simplicity of the thing
which puts you at fault," said my friend.
"What nonsense you do talk! " replied the Pre-
fect, laughing heartily.


THE PURLOINED LETTER J
"Perhaps the mystery is a little too plain," said
Dupin.
"Oh, good heavens! who ever heard of such an
idea?"
"A little too self-evident."
"Ha! ha! ha! —ha! ha! ha! —ho! ho! ho!"
roared our visitor, profoundly amused, "O Dupin,
you will be the death of me yet!"
"And what, after all, is the matter on hand? " I
asked.
"Why, I will tell you," replied the Prefect, as he
gave a long, steady, and contemplative puff, and
settled himself in his chair. "I will tell you in a
few words; but, before I begin, let me caution you
that this is an affair demanding the greatest secrecy,
and that I should most probably lose the position I
now hold, were it known that I had confided it to
any one."
"Proceed," said I.
"Or not," said Dupin.
"Well, then; I have received personal informa-
tion, from a very high quarter, that a certain docu-
ment of the last importance has been purloined from
the royal apartments. The individual who pur-
loined it is known; this beyond a doubt; he was seen
to take it. It is known, also, that it still remains in
his possession."
"How is this known? " asked Dupin.
"It is clearly inferred," replied the Prefect,
"from the nature of the document, and from the
non-appearance of certain results which would at


4 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
once arise from its passing out of the robber's posses-
sion ; — that is to say, from his employing it as he
must design in the end to employ it."
"Be a little more explicit," I said.
"Well, I may venture so far as to say that the
paper gives its holder a certain power in a certain
quarter where such power is immensely valuable."
The Prefect was fond of the cant of diplomacy.
"Still I do not quite understand," said Dupin.
"No? Well; the disclosure of the document to a
third person, who shall be nameless, would bring in
question the honor of a personage of most exalted
station; and this fact gives the holders of the docu-
ment an ascendancy over the illustrious personage
whose honor and peace are so jeopardized."
"But this ascendancy," I interposed, "would de-
pend upon the robber's knowledge of the loser's
knowledge of the robber. Who would dare"
"The thief," said G , "is the minister
D , who dares all things, those unbecoming as
well as those becoming a man. The method of the
theft was not less ingenious than bold. The docu-
ment in question — a letter, to be frank — had been
received by the personage robbed while alone in the
royal boudoir. During its perusal she was suddenly
interrupted by the entrance of the other exalted per-
sonage, from whom especially it was her wish to con-
ceal it. After a hurried and vain endeavor to thrust
it into a drawer, she was forced to place it, open as it
was, upon a table. The address, however, was up-
permost, and, the contents thus unexposed, the letter


THE PURLOINED LETTER 5
escaped notice. At this juncture enter the minister
D . His lynx eye immediately perceives the
paper, recognizes the handwriting of the address,
observes the confusion of the personage addressed,
and fathoms her secret. After some business trans-
actions, hurried through in his ordinary manner, he
produces a letter somewhat similar to the one in
question, opens it, pretends to read it, and then
places it in close juxtaposition to the other. Again
he converses for some fifteen minutes upon the pub-
lic affairs. At length, in taking leave, he takes also
from the table the letter to which he had no claim.
Its rightful owner saw, but, of course, dared not call
attention to the act, in the presence of the third per-
sonage, who stood at her elbow. The minister de-
camped, leaving his own letter — one of no impor-
tance — upon the table."
"Here, then," said Dupin to me, "you have pre-
cisely what you demand to make the ascendancy
complete — the robber's knowledge of the loser's
knowledge of the robber."
"Yes," replied the Prefect; " and the power thus
attained has for some months past been wielded,
for political purposes, to a very dangerous extent.
The personage robbed is more thoroughly convinced
every day of the necessity of reclaiming her letter.
But this, of course, cannot be done openly. In fine,
driven to despair, she has committed the matter to
me.
"Than whom," said Dupin, amid a perfect
whirlwind of smoke, "no more sagacious agent


6 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
could, I suppose, be desired, or even imagined."
"You flatter me," replied the Prefect; "but it is
possible that some such opinion may have been en-
tertained."
"It is clear," said I, "as you observe, that the
letter is still in possession of the minister; since it is
this possession, and not any employment of the let-
ter, which bestows the power. With the employ-
ment the power departs."
"True," said G ;"and upon this conviction
I proceeded. My first care was to make thorough
search of the minister's hotel; and here my chief
embarrassment lay in the necessity of searching
without his knowledge. Beyond all things, I have
been warned of the danger which would result from
giving him reason to suspect our design."
"But," said I, "you are quite au fait in these in-
vestigations. The Parisian police have done this
thing often before."
"Oh, yes; and for this reason I did not despair.
The habits of the minister gave me, too, a great
advantage. He is frequently absent from home all
night. His servants are by no means numerous.
They sleep at a distance from their master's apart-
ment, and, being chiefly Neapolitans, are readily
made drunk. I have keys, as you know, with which
I can open any chamber or cabinet in Paris. For
three months a night has not passed, during the
greater part of which I have not been engaged, per-
sonally, in ransacking the D Hotel. My
honor is interested, and, to mention a great secret


THE PURLOINED LETTER 7
the reward is enormous. So I did not abandon the
search until I had become fully satisfied that the
thief is a more astute man than myself. I fancy
that I have investigated every nook and corner of
the premises in which it is possible that the paper
can be concealed."
"But is it not possible," I suggested, "that al-
though the letter may be in possession of the minis-
ter, as it unquestionably is, he may have concealed
it elsewhere than upon his own premises?"
"This is barely possible," said Dupin. "The
present peculiar condition of affairs at court, and
especially of those intrigues in which D is
known to be involved, would render the instant
availability of the document — its susceptibility of
being produced at a moment's notice — a point of
nearly equal importance with its possession."
"Its susceptibility of being produced? " said I.
"That is to say, of being destroyed," said Dupin.
"True," I observed; "the paper is clearly then
upon the premises. As for its being upon the person
of the minister, we may consider that as out of the
question."
"Entirely," said the Prefect. "He has been
twice waylaid, as if by footpads, and his person
rigorously searched under my own inspection."
"You might have spared yourself the trouble,"
said Dupin. "D , I presume, is not altogether
a fool, and, if not, must have anticipated these way-
layings, as a matter of course."
"Not altogether a fool," said G ;" but then


8 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
he's a poet, which I take to be only one remove from
a fool."
"True," said Dupin, after a long and thoughtful
whiff from his meerschaum, "although I have been
guilty of certain doggerel myself."
"Suppose you detail," said I, " the particulars of
your search."
"Why, the fact is, we took our time, and we
searched everywhere. I have had long experience
in these affairs. I took the entire building, room by
room, devoting the nights of a whole week to each.
We examined, first, the furniture of each apartment.
We opened every possible drawer; and I presume
you know that, to a properly trained police agent,
such a thing as a secret drawer is impossible. Any
man is a dolt who permits a 'secret' drawer to
escape him in a search of this kind. The thing is
so plain. There is a certain amount of bulk —
of space — to be accounted for in every cabinet.
Then we have accurate rules. The fiftieth part of
a line could not escape us. After the cabinets we
took the chairs. The cushions we probed with the
fine long needles you have seen me employ. From
the tables we removed the tops."
"Why so?"
"Sometimes the top of a table or other similarly
arranged piece of furniture is removed by the person
wishing to conceal an article; then the leg is exca-
vated, the article deposited within the cavity, and the
top replaced. The bottoms and tops of bed-posts
are employed in the same way."


THE PURLOINED LETTER 9
"But could not the cavity be detected by sound-
ing? " I asked.
"By no means, if, when the article is deposited, a
sufficient wadding of cotton be placed around it.
Besides, in our case we were obliged to proceed
without noise."
"But you could not have removed — you could
not have taken to pieces all articles of furniture in
which it would have been possible to make a deposit
in the manner you mention. A letter may be com-
pressed into a thin spiral roll, not differing much in
shape or bulk from a large knitting-needle, and in
this form it might be inserted into the rung of a
chair, for example. You did not take to pieces all
the chairs?"
"Certainly not; but we did better — we examined
the rungs of every chair in the hotel, and indeed, the
jointings of every description of furniture, by the
aid of a most powerful microscope. Had there been
any traces of recent disturbance we should not have
failed to detect it instantly. A single grain of gim-
let-dust, for example, would have been as obvious as
an apple. Any disorder in the gluing, any unusual
gaping in the joints, would have sufficed to insure
detection."
"I presume you looked to the mirrors, between
the boards and the plates, and you probed the beds
and the bed-clothes, as well as the curtains and car-
pets."
"That, of course; and when we had absolutely
completed every article of furniture in this way, then


10 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
we examined the house itself. We divined its entire
surface into compartments, which we numbered, so
that none might be missed; then we scrutinized each
individual square inch throughout the premises, in-
cluding the two houses immediately adjoining, with
the microscope, as before."
"The two houses adjoining! " I exclaimed; " you
must have had a great deal of trouble."
"We had; but the reward offered is prodigious."
"You include the grounds about the houses?"
"All the grounds are paved with brick. They
gave us comparatively little trouble. We examined
the moss between the bricks, and found it undis-
turbed."
"You looked among D 's papers, of course,
and into the books of the library?"
"Certainly, we opened every package and parcel;
we not only opened every book, but we turned over
every leaf in each volume, not contenting ourselves
with a mere shake, according to the fashion of some
of our police officers. We also measured the thick-
ness of every book-cover, with the most accurate
admeasurement, and applied to each the most jealous
scrutiny of the microscope. Had any of the bind-
ings been recently meddled with, it would have been
utterly impossible that the fact should have escaped
observation. Some five or six volumes, just from
the hands of the binder, we carefully probed, longi-
tudinally, with-the needles."
"You explored the floors beneath the carpets?"
"Beyond doubt. We removed every carpet, and
examined the boards with the microscope."


THE PURLOINED LETTER 11
"And the paper on the walls?"
"Yes."
"You looked into the cellars?"
"We did."
"Then," I said, " you have been making a miscal-
culation, and the letter is not upon the premises, as
you suppose."
"I fear you are right there," said the Prefect.
"And now, Dupin, what would you advise me to
do?"
"To make a thorough re-search of *the premises."
"That is absolutely needless," replied G .
"I am not more sure that I breathe than I am that
the letter is not at the hotel."
"I have no better advice to give you," said Dupin.
"You have, of course, an accurate description of this
letter?"
"Oh, yes." And here the Prefect, producing a
memorandum-book, proceeded to read aloud a mi-
nute account of the internal, and especially of the
external appearance of the missing document. Soon
after finishing the perusal of this description, he took
his departure, more entirely depressed in spirits than
I had ever known the good gentleman before.
In about a month afterward he paid us another
visit, and found us occupied very nearly as before.
He took a pipe and a chair, and entered into some
ordinary conversation. At length I said; —
"Well, but G , what of the purloined letter?
I presume you have at last made up your mind that


12 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
there is no such thing as overreaching the minister?"
"Confound him, say I — yes; I made the re-
examination, however, as Dupin suggested; but it
was all labor lost, as I knew it would be."
"How much was the reward offered, did you
say?" asked Dupin.
"Why, a very great deal — a very liberal reward
— I don't like to say how much precisely; but one
thing I will say, that I wouldn't mind giving my in-
dividual check for fifty thousand francs to any one
who obtains me that letter. The fact is, it is becom-
ing of more and more importance every day; and
the reward has been lately doubled. If it were
trebled, however, I could do no more than I have
done."
"Why, yes," said Dupin drawlingly, between the
whiffs of his meerschaum, " I really — think, G ,
you have not exerted yourself — to the utmost in this
matter. You might do a little more, I think, eh?"
"How? in what way?"
"Why, [puff, puff] you might [puff, puff] employ
counsel in the matter, eh? [puff, puff, puff]. Do
you remember the story they tell of Abernethy?"
"No; hang Abernethy!"
"To be sure! hang him and welcome. But, once
upon a time, a certain rich miser conceived the de-
sign of sponging upon this Abernethy for a medical
opinion. Getting up, for this purpose, an ordinary
conversation in a private company, he insinuated his
case to the physician, as that of an imaginary indi-
vidual.


THE PURLOINED LETTER 13
"' We will suppose,' said the miser, 'that his
symptoms are such and such; now, doctor, what
would you have directed him to take?'
"' Take!' said Abernethy, 'why, take advice, to
be sure.'"
"But," said the Prefect, a little discomposed, "I
am perfectly willing to take advice, and to pay for it.
I would really give fifty thousand francs to any one
who would aid me in the matter."
"In that case," replied Dupin, opening a drawer,
and producing a check-book, "you may as well fill
me-up a check for the amount mentioned. When
you have signed it, I will hand you the letter."
I was astounded. The Prefect appeared abso-
lutely thunderstricken. For some minutes he re-
mained speechless and motionless, looking incredu-
lously at my friend with open mouth, and eyes that
seemed starting from their sockets; then, apparently
recovering himself in some measure, he seized a pen,
and, after several pauses and vacant stares, finally
filled up and signed a check for fifty thousand francs,
and handed it across the table to Dupin. The latter
examined it carefully, and deposited it in his pocket-
book; then, unlocking an escritoire, took thence a
letter and gave it to the Prefect. This functionary
grasped it in a perfect agony of joy, opened it with a
trembling hand, cast a rapid glance at its contents,
and then, scrambling and struggling to the door,
rushed at length unceremoniously from the room
and from the house, without having offered a syllable
since Dupin had requested him to fill up the check.


14 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
When he had gone, my friend entered into some
explanations.
"The Parisian police," he said, " are exceedingly
able in their way. They are persevering, ingenious,
cunning, and thoroughly versed in the knowledge
which their duties seem chiefly to demand. Thus,
when G detailed to us his mode of searching the
premises of the Hotel D , I felt entire confidence
in his having made a satisfactory investigation — so
far as his labors extended."
"So far as his labors extended? " said I.
"Yes," said Dupin. "The measures adopted
were not only the best of their kind, but carried out
to absolute perfection. Had the letter been de-
posited within the range of their search, these fellows
would, beyond a question, have found it."
I merely laughed, but he seemed quite serious in
all that he said.
"The measures, then," he continued, " were good
in their kind, and well executed; their defect lay in
their being inapplicable to the case and to the man.
A certain set of highly ingenious resources are, with
the Prefect, a sort of Procrustean bed, to which he
forcibly adapts his designs. But he perpetually errs
in being too deep or too shallow, for the matter in
hand; and many a schoolboy is a better reasoner
than he. I knew one about eight years of age,
whose success at guessing in the game of ' even and
odd ' attracted universal admiration. This game is
simple, and is played with marbles. One player
holds in his hand a number of these toys, and de-


16 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
answer as follows: 'When I wish to find out how
wise, or how stupid, or how good, or how wicked
is any one, or what are his thoughts at the moment,
I fashion the expression of my face, as accurately as
possible, in accordance with the expression of his,
and then wait to see what thoughts or sentiments
arise in my mind or heart, as if to match or corre-
spond with the expression.' This response of the
schoolboy lies at the bottom of all the spurious pro-
fundity which has been attributed to Rochefoucauld,
to La Bougive, to Machiavelli, and to Campanella."
"And the identification," I said, "of the rea-
soner's intellect with that of his opponent depends,
if I understand you aright, upon the accuracy with
which the opponent's intellect is admeasured."
"For its practical value it depends upon this,"
replied Dupin; " and the Prefect and his cohort fail
so frequently, first, by default of this identification,
and secondly, by ill-admeasurement, or rather
through non-admeasurement, of the intellect with
which they are engaged. They consider only their
own ideas of ingenuity; and, in searching for any-
thing hidden, advert only to the modes in which they
would have hidden it. They are right in this much
— that their own ingenuity is a faithful representa-
tive of that of the mass; but when the cunning of the
individual felon is diverse in character from their
own, the felon foils them, of course. This always
happens when it is above their own, and very usually
when it is below. They have no variation of princi-
ple in their investigations; at best, when urged by


THE PURLOINED LETTER 17
some unusual emergency — by some extraordinary
reward — they extend or exaggerate their old modes
of practice, without touching their principles.
What, for example, in this case of D , has been
done to vary the principle of action? What is all
this boring, and probing, and sounding, and scruti-
nizing with the microscope, and dividing the surface
of the building into registered square inches — what
is it all but an exaggeration of the application of the
one principle or set of principles of search, which are
based upon the one set of notions regarding human
ingenuity, to which the Prefect, in the long routine
of his duty, has been accustomed? Do you not see
he has taken it for granted that all men proceed to
conceal a letter — not exactly in a gimlet-hole bored
in a chair-leg — but, at least, in some out-of-the-way
hole or corner suggested by the same tenor of
thought which would urge a man to secrete a letter in
a gimlet-hole bored in a chair-leg. And do you
not see also, that such recherche nooks for conceal-
ment are adapted only for ordinary occasions, and
would be adopted only by ordinary intellects ? — for,
in all cases of concealment, a disposal of the article
concealed — a disposal of it in this recherche man-
ner, is, in the very first instance, presumable and
presumed; and thus its discovery depends, not at all
upon the acumen, but altogether upon the mere care,
patience, and determination of the seekers; and
where the case is of importance — or, what amounts
to the same thing in the political eyes, when the
reward is of magnitude — the qualities in question


18 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
have never been known to fail. You will now under-
stand what I meant in suggesting that, had the pur-
loined letter been hidden anywhere within the limits
of the Prefect's examination — in other words, had
the principle of its concealment been comprehended
within the principles of the Prefect — its discovery
would have been a matter altogether beyond ques-
tion. This functionary, however, has been thor-
oughly mystified; and the remote source of his defeat
lies in the supposition that the minister is a fool,
because he has acquired renown as a poet. All
fools are poets; this the Prefect feels; and he is
merely guilty of a non distributio medii in thence
inferring that all poets are fools."
"But is this really the poet? " I asked. "There
are two brothers, I know; and both have attained
reputation in letters. The minister, I believe, has
written learnedly on the Differential Calculus. He
is a mathematician, and no poet."
"You are mistaken; I know him well; he is both.
As poet and mathematician he would reason well;
as mere mathematician he could not have reasoned
at all, and thus would have been at the mercy of the
Prefect."
"You surprise me," I said, "by these opinions,
which have been contradicted by the voice of the
world. You do not mean to set at naught the well-
digested idea of centuries. The mathematical rea-
son has long been regarded as the reason par ex-
cellence."
"' II y a a parier,' " replied Dupin, quoting from


THE PURLOINED LETTER 19
Chamfort, "' que toute idee publique, toute conven-
tion reque, est une sottise, car elle a convenue au
plus grand nombre.' The mathematicians, I grant
you, have done their best to promulgate the popular
error to which you allude, and which is none the less
an error for its promulgation as truth. With an art
worthy a better cause, for example, they have insinu-
ated the term ' analysis ' into application to algebra.
The French are the originators of this practical de-
ception; but if the term is of any importance — if
words derive any value from applicability — then
'analysis' conveys, in algebra, about as much as,
in Latin, 'ambitus' implies 'ambition,' 'religio,'
'religion,' or 'homines honesti,' a set of honorable
men."
"You have a quarrel on hand, I see," said I,
"with some of the algebraists of Paris; but pro-
ceed."
"I dispute the availability, and thus the value, of
that reason which is cultivated in any special form
other than the abstractly logical. I dispute, in par-
ticular, the reason educed by mathematical study.
The mathematics are the science of form and quan-
tity; mathematical reasoning is merely logic applied
to observation upon form and quantity. The great
error lies in supposing that even the truths of what
is called pure algebra are abstract or general truths.
And this error is so egregious that I am confounded
at the universality with which it has been received.
Mathematical axioms are not axioms of general
truth. What is true of relation, of form and quan-


20 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
tity, is often grossly false in regard to morals, for
example. In this latter science it is very unusually
untrue that the aggregated parts are equal to the
whole. In chemistry, also, the axiom fails. In the
consideration of motive it fails; for two motives,
each of a given value, have not, necessarily, a value,
when united, equal to the sum of their values apart.
There are numerous other mathematical truths which
are only truths within the limits of relation. But
the mathematician argues, from his finite truths,
through habit, as if they were of an absolutely
general applicability — as the world indeed imagines
them to be. Bryant, in his very learned 'Myth-
ology,' mentions an analogous source of error, when
he says that ' although the Pagan fables are not be-
lieved, yet we forget ourselves continually, and make
inferences from them as existing realities.' With
the algebraists, however, who are Pagans them-
selves, the 'Pagan fables' are believed; and the
inferences are made, not so much through lapse of
memory, as through an unaccountable addling of the
brains. In short, I never yet encountered the mere
mathematician who could be trusted out of equal
roots, or one who did not clandestinely hold it as a
point of his faith that x2 + px was absolutely and
unconditionally equal to q. Say to one of these
gentlemen, by way of experiment if you please, that
you believe occasions may occur where x2 + px is
not altogether equal to q, and, having made him
understand what you mean, get out of his reach as
speedily as convenient, for, beyond doubt, he will
endeavor to knock you down.


THE PURLOINED LETTER 21
"I mean to say," continued Dupin, while I merely
laughed at his last observations, "that if the minis-
ter had been no more than a mathematician, the
Prefect would have been under no necessity of giv-
ing me this check. I knew him, however, as both
mathematician and poet; and my measures were
adapted to his capacity, with reference to the cir-
cumstances by which he was surrounded. I know
him as courtier, too, and as a bold intrigant. Such
a man, I consider, could not fail to be aware of the
ordinary political modes of action. He could not
have failed to anticipate — and events have proved
that he did not fail to anticipate — the waylayings to
which he was subjected. He must have foreseen, I
reflected, the secret investigations of his premises.
His frequent absences from home at night, which
were hailed by the Prefect as certain aids to his suc-
cess, I regarded only as ruses, to afford opportunity
for thorough search to the police, and thus the
sooner to impress them with the conviction to which
G , in fact, did finally arrive — the conviction
that the letter was not upon the premises. I felt,
also, that the whole train of thought, which I was at
some pains in detailing to you just now, concerning
the invariable principle of political action in searches
for articles concealed, I felt that this whole train of
thought would necessarily pass through the mind
cf the minister. It would imperatively lead him to
despisie all the ordinary nooks of concealment. He
could not, I reflected, be so weak as not to see that
the most intricate and remote recess of his hotel


22 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
would be as open as his commonest closets to the
eyes, to the probes, to the gimlets, and to the micro-
scopes of the Prefect. I saw, in fine, that he would
be driven, as a matter of course, to simplicity, if not
deliberately induced to it as a matter of choice.
You will remember, perhaps, how desperately the
Prefect laughed when I suggested, upon our first in-
terview, that it was just possible this mystery
troubled him so much on account of his being so very
self-evident."
"Yes," said I, " I remember his merriment well.
I really thought he would have fallen into convul-
sions."
"The material world," continued Dupin,
"abounds with very strict analogies to the immate-
rial; and thus some color of truth has been given
to the rhetorical dogma, that metaphor, or simile,
may be made to strengthen an argument, as well as
to embellish a description. The principle of the vis
inertia, for example, seems to be identical in physics
and metaphysics. It is not more true in the former,
that a large body is with more difficulty set in motion
than a smaller one, and that its subsequent momen-
tum is commensurate with this difficulty, than it is
in the latter, that intellects of the vaster capacity,
while more forcible, more constant, and more event-
ful in their movements than those of inferior grade,
are yet the less readily moved, and more embarrassed
and full of hesitation in the first few steps of their
progress. Again; have you ever noticed which of
the street signs over the shop doors are the most
attractive of attention?"


THE PURLOINED LETTER 23
"I have never given the matter a thought," I
said.
"There is a game of puzzles," he resumed,
"which is played upon a map. One party playing
requires another to find a given word — the name of
town, river, state, or empire — any word, in short,
upon the motley and perplexed surface of the chart.
A novice in the game generally seeks to embarrass
his opponents by giving them the most minutely
lettered names; but the adept selects such words as
stretch, in large characters, from one end of the chart
to the other. These, like the over-largely lettered
signs and placards of the street, escape observation
by dint of being excessively obvious; and here the
physical oversight is precisely analogous with the
moral inapprehension by which the intellect suffers
to pass unnoticed those considerations which are too
obtrusely and too palpably self-evident. But this
is a point, it appears, somewhat above or beneath
the understanding of the Prefect. He never once
thought it probable, or possible, that the minister
had deposited the letter immediately beneath the
nose of the whole world, by way of best preventing
any portion of that world from perceiving it.
"But the more I reflected upon the daring, dash-
ing, and discriminating ingenuity of D ;upon
the fact that the document must always have been at
hand, if he intended to use it to good purpose; and
upon the decisive evidence, obtained by the Prefect,
that it was not hidden within the limits of that
dignitary's ordinary search — the more satisfied I


24 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
became that, to conceal this letter, the minister had
resorted to the comprehensive and sagacious ex-
pedient of not attempting to conceal it at all.
"Full of these ideas, I prepared myself with a pair
of green spectacles, and called one fine morning,
quite by accident, at the ministerial hotel. I found
D- at home, yawning, lounging, and dawdling,
as usual, and pretending to be in the last extremity
of ennui. He is, perhaps, the most really energetic
human being now alive — but that is only when
nobody sees him.
"To be even with him, I complained of my weak
eyes, and lamented the necessity of the spectacles,
under cover of which I cautiously and thoroughly
surveyed the whole apartment, while seemingly in-
tent only upon the conversation of my host.
"I paid especial attention to a large writing-table
near which he sat, and upon which lay confusedly
some miscellaneous letters and other papers, with
one or two musical instruments and a few books.
Here, however, after a long and very deliberate
scrutiny, I saw nothing to excite particular suspicion.
"At length my eyes, in going the circuit of the
room, fell upon a trumpery filigree card-rack of
pasteboard, that hung dangling by a dirty blue rib-
bon, from a little brass knob just beneath the middle
of the mantel-piece. In this rack, which had three
or four compartments, were five or six visiting cards
and a solitary letter. This last was much soiled and
crumpled. It was torn nearly in two, across the
middle — as if a design, in the firs* instance, to tear


THE PURLOINED LETTER 25
it entirely up as worthless, had been altered, or
stayed, in the second. It had a large black seal,
bearing the D cipher very conspicuously, and
was addressed, in a diminutive female hand, to
D , the minister himself. It was thrust care-
lessly, and even, as it seemed, contemptuously, into
one of the uppermost divisions of the rack.
"No sooner had I glanced at this letter, than I
concluded it to be that of which I was in search. To
be sure, it was, to all appearance, radically different
from the one of which the Prefect had read us so
minute a description. Here the seal was large and
black, with the D cipher; there it was small
and red, with the ducal arms of the S family.
Here the address, to the minister, was diminutive
and feminine; there the superscription, to a certain
royal personage, was markedly bold and decided;
the size alone formed a point of correspondence.
But, then, the radicalness of these differences, which
was excessive; the dirt, the soiled and torn condi-
tion of the paper, so inconsistent with the true
methodical habits of D , and so suggestive of a
design to delude the beholder into an idea of the
worthlessness of the document; these things, to-
gether with the hyper-obtrusive situation of this
document, full in the view of every visitor, and thus
exactly in accordance with the conclusions to which
I had previously arrived — these things, I say, were
strongly corroborative of suspicion, in one who came
with the intention to suspect.
"I protracted my visit as long as possible; and


26 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
while I maintained a most animated discussion with
the minister, upon a topic which I knew well had
never failed to interest and excite him, I kept my
attention really riveted upon the letter. In this
examination, I committed to memory its external
appearance and arrangement in the rack; and also
fell, at length, upon a discovery which set at rest
whatever trivial doubt I might have entertained. In
scrutinizing the edges of the paper, I observed them
to be more chafed than seemed necessary. They
presented the broken appearance which is manifested
when a stiff paper, having been once folded and
pressed with a folder, is refolded in a reversed direc-
tion, in the same creases or edges which had formed
the original fold. This discovery was sufficient. It
was clear to me that the letter had been turned, as a
glove, inside out, re-directed, and re-sealed. I bade
the minister good morning, and took my departure
at once, leaving a gold snuff-box upon the table.
"The next morning I called for the snuff-box,
when we resumed, quite eagerly, the conversation of
the preceding day. While thus engaged, however,
a loud report, as if of a pistol, was heard immedi-
ately beneath the windows of the hotel, and was
succeeded by a series of fearful screams, and the
shoutings of a terrified mob. D rushed to a
casement, threw it open, and looked out. In the
meantime, I stepped to the card-rack, took the letter,
put it in my pocket, and replaced it by a facsimile
(so far as regards externals) which I had carefully
prepared at my lodgings — imitating the D


THE PURLOINED LETTER 27
cipher very readily by means of a seal formed of
bread.
"The disturbance in the street had been occa-
sioned by the frantic behavior of a man with a
musket. He had fired it among a crowd of women
and children. It proved, however, to have been
without ball, and the fellow was suffered to go his
way as a lunatic or a drunkard. When he had gone,
D came from the window, whither I had fol-
lowed him immediately upon securing the object in
view. Soon afterward I bade him farewell. The
pretended lunatic was a man in my own pay."
"But what purpose had you," I asked, " in replac-
ing the letter by a facsimile? Would it not have
been better, at the first visit, to have seized it openly,
and departed?"
"D ," replied Dupin, "is a desperate man,
and a man of nerve. His hotel, too, is not without
attendants devoted to his interest. Had I made the
wild attempt you suggest, I might never have left
the ministerial presence alive. The good people of
Paris might have heard of me no more. But I had
an object apart from these considerations. You
knew my political prepossessions. In this matter
I act as a partisan of the lady concerned. For
eighteen months the minister has had her in his
power. She has now him in hers — since, being
unaware that the letter is not in his possession, he
will proceed with his exactions as if it were. Thus
will he inevitably commit himself, at once, to his
political destruction. His downfall, too, will not


28 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
be more precipitate than awkward. It is all very
well to talk about the facilis descensus Averni; but in
all kinds of climbing, as Catalani said of singing, it
is far more easy to get up than to come down. In
the present instance I have no sympathy — at least
no pity — for him who descends. He is that mon-
strum horrendum, an unprincipled man of genius.
I confess, however, that I should like very well to
know the precise character of his thoughts, when,
being defied by her whom the Prefect terms ' a cer-
tain personage,' he is reduced to opening the letter
which I left for him in the card-rack."
"How? Did you put anything particular in it?"
"Why, it did not seem altogether right to leave
the interior blank — that would have been insulting.
D , at Vienna once, did me an evil turn, which
I told him, quite good-humoredly, that I should
remember. So, as I knew he would feel some curi-
osity in regard to the identity of the person who had
outwitted him, I thought it a pity not to give him
a clew. He is well acquainted with my MS.; and I
just copied into the middle of the blank sheet the
words —
"' Un dessein si funeste,
S'il nest digne d'A tree, est digne de Thyeste'
They are to be found in Crebillon's Atree."


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ
By Emile Gaboriau
In the Paris journals of February 28, 186-, there
appeared the following intelligence:
"A daring robbery, committed during the night
at one of our principal banker's, M. Andre Fauvel,
has created great excitement this morning in the
neighborhood of the Rue de Provence. The thieves,
who were as skillful as they were daring, succeeded
in effecting an entrance to the bank, in forcing the
lock of a safe that has heretofore been considered
impregnable, and in possessing themselves of bank-
notes, of the value of three hundred and fifty thou-
sand francs. The police, immediately informed of
the robbery, displayed their accustomed zeal, and
their efforts have been crowned with success. Al-
ready, it is said, P. B., a clerk in the bank, has been
arrested, and there is every reason to hope that his
accomplices will be speedily overtaken by the hand
of justice."
For four days this robbery was the talk of Paris.
Then public attention was engrossed by later and
equally interesting events; an acrobat broke his leg
at the circus; an actress made her debut at a minor
theater; and news of the 28th was soon forgotten.
From "File No. 1x3."
29


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 31
ceeded with the case, the more complicated it be-
came. The detective to whom it was originally as-
signed, Fanferlot, or "The Squirrel," worked day
and night to solve it. He burned to distinguish
himself by it, and thus prove to his own satisfaction,
if not to the entire force, that he was as good a
man as their chief, the famous M. Lecoq. As a
preliminary, Fanferlot induced Madame Gipsy,
Bertomy's sweetheart, to flee from justice. He ob-
tained lodgings for her at a hotel run by Madame
Alexandre.
The hotel of the Grand Archangel, Madame
Gipsy's asylum, was the most elegant one on the
Quai St. Michel. At this hotel a person who pays
her fortnight's board in advance is treated with
marked consideration.
Madame Alexandre, who had been a handsome
woman, was now stout, laced till she could scarcely
breathe, always over-dressed, and fond of wearing
a number of flashy gold chains around her fat neck.
She had bright eyes and white teeth; but, alas, a red
nose. Of all her weaknesses — and heaven knows
she had indulged in every variety — only one re-
mained; she loved a good dinner, washed down with
plenty of good wine. But she loved her husband;
now she began to feel worried because her "little
man " had not returned to dinner. She was about
to sit down without him, when the waiter cried out:
"Here is master." And Fanferlot appeared in
person.
Three years before, Fanferlot had kept a little


32 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
private inquiry office; Madame Alexandre dealt
without a license in perfumery and toilet articles,
and, finding it necessary to have some of her doubt-
ful customers watched, engaged Fanferlot's services;
this was the origin of their acquaintance.
If they went through the marriage ceremony for
the good of the mayoralty and the church, it was
because they imagined it would, like a baptism, wash
out the sins of the past. Upon this momentous day,
Fanferlot gave up his private inquiry office, and en-
tered the police, where he had already been occasion-
ally employed, and Madame Alexandre retired from
business.
Uniting their savings, they hired and furnished the
Grand Archangel, which they were now carrying on
prosperously, esteemed by their neighbors, who were
ignorant of Fanferlot's connection with the police
force.
"Why, how late you are, my little man!" ex-
claimed Madame Alexandre as she dropped her
knife and fork, and rushed forward to embrace her
husband.
Fanferlot received her caress with an air of ab-
straction. "My back is broken," he said. "I have
been the whole day playing billiards with Evariste,
M. Fauvel's valet, and allowed him to win as often
as he wished — a man who does not know what
pool is! I became acquainted with him yesterday,
and now I am his best friend. If I wish to enter
M. Fauvel's service in Antonin's place, I can rely
upon Evariste's good word."


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 33
"What, you be an office messenger? You?"
"Of course I would. How else am I to get an
opportunity of studying my characters, if I am not
on the spot to continually watch them?"
"Then the valet gave you no information?"
"None that I could make use of, and yet I turned
him inside out like a glove. This banker is a re-
markable man; you don't often meet with one of
his sort nowadays. Evariste says he has not a single
vice, not even a little defect by which his valet could
gain ten sous. He neither smokes, drinks, nor
plays; in fact, he is a saint. He is worth millions,
and lives as respectably and quietly as a grocer. He
is devoted to his wife, adores his children, is very
hospitable, but seldom goes into society."
"Then his wife is young?"
"No, she must be about fifty."
Madame Alexandre reflected a minute, then
asked: "Did you inquire about the other members
of the family?"
"Certainly. The younger son is in the army.
The elder son, Lucien, lives with his parents, and is
altogether as proper as a young lady. He is so
good, indeed, that he is perfectly stupid."
"And what about the niece?"
"Evariste could tell me nothing about her."
Madame Alexandre shrugged her fat shoulders.
"If you have discovered nothing," she said, "it is
because there is nothing to be discovered. Still, do
you know what I would do, if I were you?"
"Tell me."


34 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"I would consult M. Lecoq."
Fanferlot jumped up as if he had been shot.
"Now, that's pretty advice!" he exclaimed. "Do
you want me to lose my place? M. Lecoq does not
suspect that I have anything to do with the case, ex-
cepting to obey his orders."
"Nobody told you to let him know you were in-
vestigating it on your own account. You can con-
sult him with an air of indifference, as if you were
not at all interested; and, after you have got his
opinion, you can take advantage of it."
The detective weighed his wife's words, and then
said: "Perhaps you are right; yet M. Lecoq is so
deucedly shrewd, that he might see through me."
"Shrewd!" echoed Madame Alexandre;
"shrewd! All of you at the Prefecture say that so
often, that he has gained his reputation by it. You
are just as sharp as he is."
"Well, we will see. I will think the matter over;
but, in the mean time, what does the girl say?"
The " girl" was Madame Nina Gipsy.
In taking up her abode at the Grand Archangel,
Madame Nina thought she was following good ad-
vice; and, as Fanferlot had never appeared in her
presence since, she was still under the impression that
she had obeyed a friend of Prosper's. When she
received her summons from M. Patrigent, she ad-
mired the wonderful skill of the police in discover-
ing her hiding place; for she had established her-
self at the hotel under a false, or rather her true
name, Palmyre Chocareille. Artfully questioned


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 35
by her inquisitive landlady, she had, without any
mistrust, confided her history to her. Thus Fanfer-
lot was able to impress the magistrate with the idea
of his being a skillful detective, when he pretended
to have discovered all this information from a variety
of sources.
"She is still upstairs," replied Madame Alex-
andre. "She suspects nothing; but to keep her in
the house becomes every day more difficult. I don't
know what the magistrate told her, but she came
home quite beside herself with anger. She wanted
to go and make a fuss at M. Fauvel's. Then she
wrote a letter, which she told Jean to post for her;
but I kept it to show you."
"What!" interrupted Fanferlot, "you have a
letter, and did not tell me before? Perhaps it con-
tains the clew to the mystery. Give it to me, quick."
Obeying her husband, Madame Alexandre opened
a little cupboard and took out a letter, which she
handed to him. "Here, take it," she said, "and
be satisfied."
Considering that she used to be a chamber-maid,
Palmyre Chocareille, since become Madame Gipsy,
wrote well. Her letter bore the following address,
written in a free, flowing hand:
"M. L. de Clameran,
"Forge-Master, Hotel du Louvre.
"To be handed to M. Raoul de Lagors.
"(Immediate.)"
"Oh, ho!" said Fanferlot, accompanying his ex-


36 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
clamation with a little whistle, as was his habit when
he thought he had made a grand discovery. "Oh,
ho!"
"Are you going to open it?" inquired Madame
Alexandre.
"A little bit," said Fanferlot, as he dexterously
opened the envelope.
Madame Alexandre leaned over her husband's
shoulder, and they both read the following:
"Monsieur Raoul—Prosper is in prison, accused of a
robbery which he never committed. I wrote to you three
days ago."
"What!" interrupted Fanferlot, "this silly girl
wrote, and I never saw the letter?"
"But, little man, she must have posted it herself,
the day she went to the Palais de Justice."
"Very likely," said Fanferlot, propitiated. He
continued reading:
"I wrote to you three days ago, and have no reply. Who
will help Prosper if his best friends desert him? If you
don't answer this letter, I shall consider myself released
from a certain promise, and without scruple will tell Pros-
per of the conversation I overheard between you and M. de
Clameran. But I can count on you, can I not? I shall
expect you at the Grand Archangel, on the Quai St. Michel,
the day after to-morrow, between twelve and four.—Nina
Gipsy/'
The letter read, Fanferlot at once proceeded to
copy it.


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ $7
"Well! " said Madame Alexandre, " what do you
think?"
Fanferlot was delicately refastening the letter
when the door of the hotel office was abruptly
opened, and the waiter twice whispered: "Pst!
Pst!"
Fanferlot rapidly disappeared into a dark closet.
He had barely time to close the door before Madame
Gipsy entered the room. The poor girl was sadly
changed. She was pale and hollow-cheeked, and her
eyes were red with weeping.
On seeing her, Madame Alexandre could not con-
ceal her surprise. "Why, my child, you are not go-
ing out? " said she.
"I am obliged to do so, madame; and I have come
to ask you to tell any-one that may call during my
absence to wait until I return."
"But where in the world are you going at this
hour, unwell as you are?"
For a moment Madame Gipsy hesitated. "Oh,"
she said, " you are so kind that I am tempted to con-
fide in you; read this note which a messenger just
now brought to me."
"What!" cried Madame Alexandre perfectly
aghast; " a messenger enter my house, and go up to
your room!"
"Is there anything surprising in that?"
"No, oh, no! nothing surprising." And in a
tone loud enough to be heard in the closet, Madame
Alexandre read the note:
"A friend of Prosper's who can neither receive


38 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
you, nor present himself at your hotel, is very anx-
ious to speak to you. Be in the omnibus office op-
posite the tower of Saint Jacques, to-night at nine
precisely, and the writer will be there, and tell you
what he has to say.
"I have appointed this public place for the rendez-
vous so as to relieve your mind of all fear."
"And you are going to this rendezvous?"
"Certainly, madame."
"But it is imprudent, foolish: it is a snare to en-
trap you."
"It makes no difference," interrupted Nina. "I
am so unfortunate already that I have nothing more
to dread. Any change would be a relief." And,
without waiting to hear anything more, she went off.
The door had, scarcely closed upon her before Fan-
ferlot bounced from the closet.
The mild detective was white with rage, and swore
violently. "What is the meaning of this?" he
cried. "Am I to stand by and have people walking
all over the Grand Archangel as if it were a public
street?" Madame Alexandre stood trembling, and
dared not speak. "Was ever such impudence heard
of before!" he continued. "A messenger comes
into my house, and goes upstairs without being seen
by anybody! I will look into this. And the idea
of you, Madame Alexandre, you, a sensible woman,
being idiotic enough to try and persuade that little
viper not to keep the appointment!"
"But, my dear —"
"Had you not sense enough to know that I would


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 39
follow her, and discover what she is attempting to
conceal? Come, make haste and help me, so that
she won't recognize me."
In a few minutes Fanferlot was completely dis-
guised by a thick beard, a wig, and a linen blouse,
and looked for all the world like one of those dis-
reputable working men who go about seeking for
employment, and, at the same time, hoping they may
not find any.
"Have you your life preserver? " asked the solici-
tous Madame Alexandre.
"Yes, yes; make haste and have that letter to
M. de Clameran posted, and keep on the look out."
And without listening to his wife, who called after
him: " Good luck," Fanferlot darted into the street.
Madame Gipsy had some minutes' start of him;
but he ran up the street he knew she must have taken,
and overtook her on the Pont-au-Change. She was
walking with the uncertain manner of a person who,
impatient to be at a rendezvous, has started too soon,
and is obliged to occupy the intervening time. First
she would walk slowly, then quicken her steps, and
proceed very rapidly. She strolled up and down the
Place du Chatelet several times, read the theater-
bills, and finally seated herself on a bench. One
minute before a quarter to nine, she entered the om-
nibus-office, and sat down.
A moment afterwards Fanferlot entered; but, as
he feared that Madame Gipsy might recognize him
in spite of his beard, he took a seat at the opposite
end of the room, in a dark corner. "Singular place


40 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
for a conversation," he thought, as he watched the
young woman. "Who in the world can have made
this appointment in an omnibus office? Judging from
her evident curiosity and uneasiness, I could swear
she has not the faintest idea for whom she is wait-
ing."
Meanwhile, the office was rapidly filling with peo-
ple. Every minute an official would shout out the
destination of an omnibus which had just arrived,
and the passengers would rush in to obtain tickets,
hoping to be able to proceed by it.
As each new-comer entered, Nina would tremble,
and Fanferlot would say, "This must be him!"
Finally, as the Hotel-de-Ville clock was striking nine,
a man entered, and, without going to the ticket-desk,
walked directly up to Nina, bowed, and took a seat
beside her. He was of medium-size, rather stout,
with a crimson face, and fiery-red whiskers. His
dress was that of a well-to-do merchant, and there
was nothing in his manner or appearance to excite at-
tention.
Fanferlot watched him eagerly. "Well, my
friend," he said to himself, " in future I shall recog-
nize you, no matter where we meet; and this very
evening I will find out who you are." Despite his
intent listening, Fanferlot could not hear a word
spoken by either the stranger or Nina. All he could
do was to judge what the subject of their conversa-
tion might be by their gestures.
When the stout man bowed and spoke to her,
Madame Gipsy looked so surprised that it was evi-


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 41
dent she had never seen him before. When he sat
down by her, and said a few words, she started up
with a frightened air, as if seeking to escape. A
single word and look made her resume her seat.
Then, as the stout man went on talking, Nina's at-
titude betrayed a certain apprehension. She evi-
dently refused to do something required of her;
then suddenly she seemed to consent, when a good
reason was given for her doing so. At one moment
she appeared ready to weep, and the next her pretty
face was illumined by a bright smile. Finally, she
shook hands with her companion, as if she were con-
firming a promise.
"What can all this mean? " said Fanferlot to him-
self, as he sat in his dark corner, biting his nails.
"What an idiot I am to have stationed myself so
far off!" He was thinking how he could manage to
approach nearer without arousing their suspicions,
when the stout man rose, offered his arm to Madame
Gipsy, who accepted it without hesitation, and they
walked together towards the door.
They were so engrossed with each other, that Fan-
ferlot thought he could, without risk, follow them
closely; and it was well he did, for the crowd was
dense outside, and he would soon have lost sight of
them. Reaching the door, he saw the stout man and
Nina cross the pavement, hail a cab, and enter it.
"Very good," muttered Fanferlot, "I've got
them now. There is no need to hurry."
While the driver was gathering up his reins, Fan-
ferlot prepared himself; and, when the cab started,


42 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
he set off at a brisk trot, determined upon following
it to the end of the earth.
The cab proceeded along the Boulevard Sevas-
topol. It went pretty fast; but it was not for noth-
ing that Fanferlot had been dubbed the Squirrel.
With his elbows glued to his sides, and economizing
his wind, he ran on. By the time he had reached the
Boulevard St. Denis, he began to get winded, and
stiff from the pain in his side. The cabman abruptly
turned into the Rue Faubourg St. Martin.
But Fanferlot, who at eight years of age, had
played about the streets of Paris, was not to be
baffled; he was a man of resources. He seized hold
of the springs of the cab, raised himself up by the
strength of his wrists, and hung on, with his legs
resting on the axle-tree of the hind wheels. He was
not particularly comfortable, but then, he no longer
ran the risk of being distanced. "Now," he
chuckled, behind his false beard, " you may drive as
fast as you please, cabby."
The man whipped his horses, and drove furiously
along the hilly street of the Faubourg St. Martin.
Finally the cab stopped in front of a wine-shop, and
the driver jumped down from his seat, and went in.
The detective also left his uncomfortable post, and
crouching in a doorway waited for Nina and her
companion to alight, with the intention of following
closely upon their heels. Five minutes passed, and
still there were no signs of them. "What can they
be doing all this time?" grumbled the detective.
With great precautions he approached the cab, and


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 43
peeped in. Oh, cruel deception! it was empty!
Fanferlot felt as if some one had thrown a bucket
of ice-water over him; he remained rooted to the
spot with his mouth open, the picture of blank be-
wilderment. He soon recovered his wits sufficiently
to burst forth into a volley of oaths, loud enough to
rattle all the window-panes in the neighborhood.
"Tricked! " he cried, "fooled! Ah! but won't
I make them pay for this!"
In a moment his quick mind had run over the
gamut of possibilities, probable and improbable.
"Evidently," he muttered, "this fellow and Nina
entered by one door, and got out by the other; the
trick is simple enough. If they resorted to it, 'tis
because they feared being followed. If they feared
being followed, they have uneasy consciences, there-
fore —" He suddenly interrupted his monologue
as the idea struck him that he had better endeavor to
find out something from the driver.
Unfortunately, the driver was in a very surly
mood, and not only refused to answer, but shook his
whip in so threatening a manner that Fanferlot
deemed it prudent to beat a retreat. "Oh, hang it,"
he muttered, " perhaps the driver is mixed up in the
affair also!"
But what could he do now at this time of night?
He could not imagine. He walked dejectedly back
to the quay, and it was half-past eleven when he
reached his own door. "Has the little fool re-
turned?" he inquired of Madame Alexandre, the
instant she let him in.


44 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"No; but here are two large bundles which have
come for her."
Fanferlot hastily opened them. They contained
three cotton dresses, some heavy shoes, and some
linen caps. "Well," said the detective in a vexed
tone, "now she is going to disguise herself. Upon
my word, I am getting puzzled! What can she be
up to?"
When Fanferlot was sulkily walking down the
Faubourg St. Martin, he had fully made up his mind
that he would not tell his wife of his discomfiture.
But once at home, confronted with a new fact of
nature to negative all his conjectures, his vanity dis-
appeared. He confessed everything — his hopes so
nearly realized, his strange mis-chance, and his
suspicions. They talked the matter over and finally
decided that they would not go to bed until Madame
Gipsy, from whom Madame Alexandre was de-
termined to obtain an explanation of what had hap-
pened, returned. At one o'clock the worthy couple
were about giving over all hope of her re-appearance,
when they heard the bell ring.
Fanferlot instantly slipped into the closet, and
Madame Alexandre remained in the office to receive
Nina. "Here you are at last, my dear child!" she
cried. "Oh, I have been so uneasy, so afraid lest
some misfortune had happened!"
"Thanks for your kind interest, madame. Has a
bundle been sent here for me?"
Poor Nina's appearance had strikingly changed;
she was still sad, but no longer dejected as she had


AN INTERVIEW WITH- M. LECOQ 45
been. To her prostration of the last few days, had
succeeded a firm and generous resolution, which was
betrayed in her sparkling eyes and resolute step.
"Yes, two bundles came for you; here they are.
I suppose you saw M. Bertomy's friend?"
"Yes, madame, and his advice has so changed my
plans, that, I regret to say, I must leave you to-mor-
row."
"Going away to-morrow! Then something must
have happened!"
"Oh! nothing that would interest you, madame."
After lighting her candle at the gas-burner,
Madame Gipsy said: "Good-night" in a very sig-
nificant way, and left the room.
"And what do you think of that, Madame Alex-
andre?" asked Fanferlot, as he emerged from his
hiding-place.
"It is incredible! This girl writes to M. de
Lagors to meet her here, and then does not wait for
him."
"She evidently mistrusts us; she knows who I
am.
"Then this friend of the cashier must have told
her."
"Nobody knows who told her. I begin to think
that I have to do with some very knowing thieves.
They guess I am on their track, and are trying to
escape me. I should not be at all surprised if this
little rogue has the money, herself, and intends to
run off with it to-morrow."
"That is not my opinion; but listen to me, you


46 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
had better take my advice, and consult M. Lecoq."
Fanferlot meditated awhile, then exclaimed:
"Very well; I will see him, just for your satisfaction;
because I know that if I have not discovered any-
thing, neither will he. But if he takes upon him-
self to be domineering, it won't do; for only let him
show his insolence to me, and / will let him know his
place!"
Notwithstanding this brave speech, the detective
passed an uneasy night, and at six o'clock the next
morning he was up — it was necessary to rise very
early if one wished to catch M. Lecoq at home —
and refreshed by a cup of strong coffee, he directed
his steps towards the dwelling of the famous detec-
tive.
Fanferlot the Squirrel was certainly not afraid of
his chief, as he called him, for he started off with his
nose in the air, and his hat cocked on one side. But
by the time he reached the Rue Montmarte, where
M. Lecoq lived, his courage had vanished; he pulled
his hat over his eyes, and hung his head, as if look-
ing for relief among the paving-stones. He slowly
ascended the stairs, pausing several times, and look-
ing around as if he would like to fly. Finally he
reached the third floor, and stood before a door dec-
orated with the arms of the famous detective — a
cock, the symbol of vigilance — and his heart failed
him so that he had scarcely the courage to ring the
bell.
The door was opened by Janouille, M. Lecoq's old
servant, who had very much the manner and appear-


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 47
ance of a grenadier. She was as faithful to her mas-
ter as a watchdog, and always stood ready to attack
any one who did not treat him with the august re-
spect which she considered his due. "Well, M.
Fanferlot," she said, "you come at a right time for
once in your life. The chief is waiting to see you."
Upon this announcement, Fanferlot was seized
with a violent desire to retreat. By what chance
could Lecoq be waiting for him? While he thus
hesitated, Janouille seized him by the arm, and pulled
him in, saying: " Do you want to take root there?
Come along, the master is busy at work in his study."
Seated at a desk in the middle of a large room,
half library and half theatrical dressing-room, fur-
nished in a curious style, was an individual with gold
spectacles. This was M. Lecoq in his official char-
acter.
Fanferlot on his entrance advanced respectfully,
bowing till his back-bone was a perfect curve. M.
Lecoq laid down his pen, and looking sharply at
him, said: " Ah, so here you are, young man. Well,
it seems that you haven't made much progress in
Bertomy's case."
"What," murmured Fanferlot, "you know—"
"I know that you have muddled everything until
you can't see your way out; so that you are ready to
give in."
"But, M. Lecoq, it was not I —"
M. Lecoq rose, and walked up and down the room;
suddenly he confronted Fanferlot, and said in a tone
of scornful irony: " What would you think, Master


48 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
Squirrel, of a man who abuses the confidence of those
who employ him, who reveals just enough to lead the
prosecution on the wrong scent, who sacrifices to his
own foolish vanity the cause of justice and the liberty
of an unfortunate prisoner?"
Fanferlot started back with a scared look. "I
should say," he stammered, " I should say—"
"You would say this man ought to be punished,
and dismissed from his employment; and you are
right. The less a profession is honored, the more
honorable should those be who belong to it. And
yet you have been false to yours. Ah! Master
Squirrel, we are ambitious, and we try to make the
police service forward our own views! We let jus-
tice go astray, and we go on a different tack. One
must be a more cunning blood-hound than you are,
my friend, to be able to hunt without a huntsman.
You are too self-reliant by half."
"But, my chief, I swear —"
"Silence! Do you pretend to say that you did
your duty, and told all you knew to the investigating
magistrate? Whilst others were giving information
against the cashier, you were getting up evidence
against the banker. You watched his movements:
you became intimate with his valet."
Was M. Lecoq really angry, or pretending to be
so? Fanferlot, who knew him well, was puzzled as
to whether all this indignation was real.
"Still, if you were only skillful," continued M.
Lecoq, "it would be another matter; but no: you
wish to be master, and you are not even fit to be a
journeyman."


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 49
"You are right, my chief," said Fanferlot pite-
ously, for he saw that it was useless for him to deny
anything. "But how could I go about an affair like
this, where there was not even a trace, a sign of any
kind to start from?"
M. Lecoq shrugged his shoulders. "You are an
ass!" exclaimed he. "Why, don't you know that
on the very day you were sent for with the com-
missary to verify the fact of the robbery, you held —
I do not say certainly, but very probably held — in
your great stupid hands the means of knowing which
key had been used when the money was stolen?"
"How is that?"
"You want to know, do you? I will tell you.
Do you remember the scratch you discovered on the
safe? You were so struck by it, that you could not
refrain from calling out directly you saw it. You
carefully examined it, and were convinced that it was
a fresh scratch, only a few hours old. You thought,
and rightly too, that this scratch was made at the
time of the theft. Now, with what was it made?
Evidently with a key. That being the case, you
should have asked for the keys both of the banker
and the cashier. One of them would have probably
had some particles of the hard green paint sticking to
it."
Fanferlot listened with open mouth to this ex-
planation. At the last words, he violently slapped
his forehead with his hand and cried out: "Idiot!
idiot!"
"You have correctly named yourself," said M.


50 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
Lecoq. "Idiot! This proof stares you right in the
face, and you don't see it! This scratch is the only
clue there is to follow, and you must like a fool neg-
lect it. If I find the guilty party, it will be by means
of this scratch; and I am determined that I will find
him."
At a distance the Squirrel very bravely abuses and
defies M. Lecoq; but in his presence, he yields to the
influence which this extraordinary man exercises upon
all who approach him. This exact information, these
minute details just given him, so upset his mind that
he could not imagine where and how M. Lecoq had
obtained them. Finally he humbly said: "You have
then been occupying yourself with this case, my
chief?"
"Probably I have; but I am not infallible, and
may have overlooked some important evidence.
Take a seat, and tell me all you know."
M. Lecoq was not the man to be hood-winked, so
Fanferlot told the exact truth, a rare thing for him
to do. However, as he reached the end of his state-
ment, a feeling of mortified vanity prevented his tell-
ing how he had been fooled by Nina and the stout
man. Unfortunately for poor Fanferlot, M. Lecoq
was always fully informed on every subject in which
he interested himself. "It seems to me, Master
Squirrel," said he, "that you have forgotten some-
thing. How far did you follow the empty cab?"
Fanferlot blushed, and hung his head like a guilty
school-boy. "Oh, my chief! " he cried, "and you
know all about that too! How could you have —"


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 51
But a sudden idea flashed across his mind, he stopped
short, bounded off his chair, and exclaimed: "Oh!
I know now: you were the stout gentleman with the
red-whiskers."
His amazement gave so singular an expression to
his face that M. Lecoq could not restrain a smile.
"Then it was you!" continued the bewildered de-
tective; "you were the stout gentleman at whom I
stared, so as to impress his appearance upon my
mind, and I never recognized youl You would
make a superb actor, my chief, if you would go on
the stage; but I was disguised too — very well dis-
guised."
"Very poorly disguised: it is only just to you that
I should let you know what a failure it was, Fanfer-
lot. Do you think that a huge beard and a blouse
are sufficient transformation? The eye is the thing
to be changed — the eye! The art lies in being able
to change the eye. That is the secret." This
theory of disguise explained why the lynx-eyed Lecoq
never appeared at the Prefecture of Police without
his gold spectacles.
"Then, my chief," said Fanferlot, clinging to his
idea, " you have been more successful than Madame
Alexandre; you have made the little girl confess?
You know why she leaves the Grand Archangel, why
she does not wait for M. de Lagors, and why she has
bought herself some cotton dresses?"
"She is following my advice."
"That being the case," said the detective de-
jectedly, " there is nothing left for me to do, but to
acknowledge myself an ass."


52 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"No, Squirrel," said M. Lecoq kindly, "you are
not an ass. You merely did wrong in undertaking
a task beyond your capacity. Have you progressed
one step since you started in this affair? No.
That shows that, although you are incomparable as
a lieutenant, you do not possess the qualities of a
general. I am going to present you with an aphor-
ism; remember it, and let it be your guide in the
future: A man can shine in the second rank, who
would be totally eclipsed in the first."
Never had Fanferlot seen his chief so talkative
and good-natured. Finding his deceit discovered, he
had expected to be overwhelmed with a storm of
anger; whereas he had escaped with a little shower
that had cooled his brain. Lecoq's anger disap-
peared like one of those heavy clouds which threaten
in the horizon for a moment, and then are suddenly
swept away by a gust of wind.
But this unexpected affability made Fanferlot feel
uneasy. He was afraid that something might be
concealed beneath it. "Do you know who the thief
is, my chief? " he inquired.
"I know no more than you do, Fanferlot; and you
seem to have made up your mind, whereas I am still
undecided. You declare the cashier to be innocent,
and the banker guilty. I don't know whether you
are right Or wrong. I follow after you, and have
got no further than the preliminaries of my investi-
gation. I am certain of but one thing, and that is,
the scratch on the safe door. That scratch is my
starting-point."


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ S3
As he spoke, M. Lecoq took from his desk an im-
mense sheet of paper which he unrolled. On this
paper was photographed the door of M. Fauvel's
safe. Every detail was rendered perfectly.
There were the five movable buttons with the en-
graved letters, and the narrow, projecting brass
lock. The scratch was indicated with great exact-
ness.
"Now," said M. Lecoq, " here is our scratch. It
runs from top to bottom, starting diagonally, from
the keyhole, and proceeding from left to right; that
is to say it terminates on the side next to the private
staircase leading to the banker's apartments. Al-
though very deep at the keyhole, it ends in a scarcely
perceptible mark."
"Yes, my chief, I see all that."
"Naturally you thought that this scratch was
made by the person who took the money. Let us
see if you were right. I have here a little iron box,
painted green like M. Fauvel's safe; here it is.
Take a key, and try to scratch it."
"The deuce take it!" said Fanferlot after several
attempts, " this paint is awfully hard to move!"
"Very hard, my friend, and yet that on the safe
is harder still, and more solid. So you see the
scratch you discovered could not have been made by
the trembling hand of a thief letting the key slip."
"Sapristi!" exclaimed Fanferlot amazed; "I
never should have thought of that. It certainly re-
quired great force to make the deep scratch on the
safe."


54 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"Yes, but how was that force applied? I have
been racking my brain for three days, and it was only
yesterday that I came to a conclusion. Let us ex-
amine if my conjectures present enough chances of
probability to establish a starting-point."
M. Lecoq put the photograph aside, and, walking
to the door communicating with his bedroom, took
the key from the lock, and, holding it in his hands,
said: " Come here, Fanferlot, and stand by my side,
there; very well. Now suppose that I want to open
this door, and that you don't wish me to open it;
when you see me about to insert the key, what would
be your first impulse?"
"To put my hands on your arm, and draw it
towards me so as to prevent your introducing the
key."
"Precisely so. Now let us try it; go on."
Fanf erlot obeyed; and the key held by M. Lecoq,
pulled aside from the lock, slipped along the door,
and traced upon it, from above to below a diagonal
scratch, the exact reproduction of the one in the
photograph.
"Oh, oh, oh!" exclaimed Fanferlot in three dif-
ferent tones of admiration, as he stood gazing in a
reverie at the door.
"Do you begin to understand? " asked M. Lecoq.
"Understand, my chief? Why, a child could un-
derstand it now. Ah, what a man you are! I see
the scene as if I had been there. Two persons were
present at the robbery; one wished to take the money,
the other wished to prevent its being taken. That
is clear, that is certain."


AN INTERVIEW WITH M. LECOQ 55
Accustomed to triumphs of this sort, M. Lecoq
was much amused at Fanferlot's enthusiasm.
"There you go off, half-primed again," he said good-
humoredly; "you regard as certain proof a circum-
stance which may be accidental, and at the most only
probable."
"No, my chief; no! a man like you could not be
mistaken; doubt is no longer possible."
"That being the case, what deductions would you
draw from our discovery?"
"In the first place, it proves that I am correct in
thinking the cashier innocent."
"How so?"
"Because, being at perfect liberty to open the safe
whenever he wished to do so, it is not likely that he
would have had a witness present when he intended
to commit the theft."
"Well reasoned, Fanferlot. But on this suppo-
sition the banker would be equally innocent; reflect
a little."
Fanferlot reflected, and all his confidence vanished.
"You are right," he said in a despairing tone.
"What can be done now?"
"Look for the third rogue, or rather the real
rogue, the one who opened the safe, and stole the
notes, and who is still at large, while others are
suspected."
"Impossible, my chief, impossible! Don't you
know that M. Fauvel and his cashier had keys, and
they only? And they always kept these keys in their
possession."


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 59
in my mind with my wooing, and with the dark inci-
dents of the " Study in Scarlet," I was seized with a
keen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how
he was employing his extraordinary powers. His
rooms were brilliantly lighted, and even as I looked
up, I saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark
silhouette against the blind. He was pacing the
room swiftly, eagerly, with his head sunk upon his
chest, and his hands clasped behind him. To me,
who knew his every mood and habit, his attitude and
manner told their own story. He was at work
again. He had risen out of his drug-created dreams,
and was hot upon the scent of some new problem. I
rang the bell, and was shown up to the chamber which
had formerly been in part my own.
His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but
he was glad, I think, to see me. With hardly a
word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved me to
an armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and in-
dicated a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner.
Then he stood before the fire, and looked me over in
his singular introspective fashion.
"Wedlock suits you," he remarked. "I think,
Watson, that you have put on seven and a half
pounds since I saw you."
"Seven," I answered.
"Indeed, I should have thought a little more.
Just a trifle more, I fancy, Watson. And in practice
again, I observe. You did not tell me that you in-
tended to go into harness."
"Then how do you know?"


60 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you
have been getting yourself very wet lately, and that
you have a most clumsy and careless servant girl?"
"My dear Holmes," said I, "this is too much.
You would certainly have been burned had you lived
a few centuries ago. It is true that I had a country
walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful
mess; but as I have changed my clothes, I can't
imagine how you deduce it. As to Mary Jane, she
is incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice; but
there again I fail to see how you work it out."
He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long nervous
hands together.
"It is simplicity itself," said he; " my eyes tell me
that on the inside of your left shoe, just where the
firelight strikes it, the leather is scored by six almost
parallel cuts. Obviously they have been caused by
some one who has very carelessly scraped round the
edges of the sole in order to remove crusted mud
from it. Hence, you see, my double deduction that
you had been out in vile weather, and that you had
a particularly malignant boot-slicking specimen of
the London slavey. As to your practice, if a gentle-
man walks into my rooms, smelling of iodoform,
with a black mark of nitrate of silver upon his right
forefinger, and a bulge on the side of his top-hat to
show where he has secreted his stethoscope, I must
be dull indeed if I do not pronounce him to be an
active member of the medical profession."
I could not help laughing at the ease with which he
explained his process of deduction. "When I hear


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 61
you give your reasons," I remarked, "the thing al-
ways appears to me so ridiculously simple that I
could easily do it myself, though at each successive
instance of your reasoning I am baffled, until you ex-
plain your process. And yet, I believe that my eyes
are as good as yours."
"Quite so," he answered, lighting a cigarette,
and throwing himself down into an armchair.
"You see, but you do not observe. The distinction
is clear. For example, you have frequently seen the
steps which lead up from the hall to this room."
"Frequently."
"How often?"
"Well, some hundreds of times."
"Then how many are there?"
"How many? I don't know."
"Quite so! You have not observed. And
yet you have seen. That is just my point. Now, I
know there are seventeen steps, because I have both
seen and observed. By the way, since you are in-
terested in these little problems, and since you are
good enough to chronicle one or two of my trifling
experiences, you may be interested in this." He
threw over a sheet of thick pink-tinted note-paper
which had been lying open upon the table. "It came
by the last post," said he. "Read it aloud."
The note was undated, and without either signa-
ture or address.
"There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to
eight o'clock," it said, " a gentleman who desires to
consult you upon a matter of the very deepest mo-


62 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
ment. Your recent services to one of the royal houses
of Europe have shown that you are one who may
safely be trusted with matters which are of an im-
portance which can hardly be exaggerated. This ac-
count of you we have from all quarters received.
Be in your chamber, then, at that hour, and do not
take it amiss if your visitor wears a mask."
"This is indeed a mystery," I remarked. "What
do you imagine that it means?"
"I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to
theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins
to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to
suit facts. But the note itself — what do you de-
duce from it?"
I carefully examined the writing, and the paper
upon which it was written.
"The man who wrote it was presumably well to
do," I remarked, endeavoring to imitate my com-
panion's processes. "Such paper could not be
bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly
strong and stiff."
"Peculiar — that is the very word," said Holmes.
"It is not an English paper at all. Hold it up to the
light."
I did so, and saw a large E with a small g,a P and
a large G with a small t woven into the texture of
the paper.
"What do you make of that? " asked Holmes.
"The name of the maker, no doubt; or his mono-
gram, rather."
"Not all. The G with the small t stands for


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 63
'Gesellschaft,' which is the German for ' Company.'
It is a customary contraction like our ' Co.' P, of
course, stands for 'Papier.' Now for the Eg.
Let us glance at our ' Continental Gazetteer.'" He
took down a heavy brown volume from his shelves.
"Eglow, Eglonitz — here we are, Egria. It is in a
German-speaking country — in Bohemia, not far
from Carlsbad. 'Remarkable as being the scene
of the death of Wallenstein, and for its numerous
glass factories and paper mills.' Ha! ha! my boy,
what do you make of that?" His eyes sparkled,
and he sent up a great blue triumphant cloud from
his cigarette.
"The paper was made in Bohemia," I said.
"Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is
a German. Do you note the peculiar construction
of the sentence -—' This account of you we have from
all quarters received'? A Frenchman or Russian
could not have written that. It is the German who
is so uncourteous to his verbs. It only remains,
therefore, to discover what is wanted by this Ger-
man who writes upon Bohemian paper, and prefers
wearing a mask to showing his face. And here he
comes, if I am not mistaken, to resolve all our
doubts."
As he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses'
hoofs and grating wheels against the curb, followed
by a sharp pull at the bell. Holmes whistled.
"A pair, by the sound," said he. "Yes," he con-
tinued, glancing out of the window. "A nice little
brougham and a pair of beauties. A hundred and


64 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
fifty guineas apiece. There's money in this case,
Watson, if there is nothing else."
"I think I had better go, Holmes."
"Not a bit, doctor. Stay where you are. I am
lost without my Boswell. And this promises to be
interesting. It would be a pity to miss it."
"But your client"
"Never mind him. I may want your help, and so
may he. Here he comes. Sit down in that arm-
chair, doctor, and give us your best attention."
A slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon
the stairs and in the passage, paused immediately
outside the door. Then there was a loud and au-
thoritative tap.
"Come in!" said Holmes.
A man entered who could hardly have been less
than six feet six inches in height, with the chest and
limbs of a Hercules. His dress was rich with a rich-
ness which would, in England, be looked upon as
akin to bad taste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were
slashed across the sleeves and front of his double-
breasted coat, while the deep blue cloak which was
thrown over his shoulders was lined with flame-
colored silk, and secured at the neck with a brooch
which consisted of a single flaming beryl. Boots
which extended half-way up his calves, and which
were trimmed at the tops with rich brown fur, com-
pleted the impression of barbaric opulence which was
suggested by his whole appearance. He carried a
broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across
the upper part of his face, extending down past the


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 65
cheekbones, a black visored-mask, which he had ap-
parently adjusted that very moment, for his hand
was still raised to it as he entered. From the lower
part of the face he appeared to be a man of strong
character, with a thick, hanging lip, and a long,
straight chin, suggestive of resolution pushed to the
length of obstinacy.
"You had my note? " he asked, with a deep, harsh
voice and a strongly marked German accent. "I
told you that I would call." He looked from one
to the other of us, as if uncertain which to address.
"Pray take a seat," said Holmes. "This is my
friend and colleague, Doctor Watson, who is oc-
casionally good enough to help me in my cases.
Whom have I the honor to address?"
"You may address me as the Count von Kramm,
a Bohemian nobleman. I understand that this
gentleman, your friend, is a man of honor and dis-
cretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most
extreme importance. If not, I should much prefer
to communicate with you alone."
I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist
and pushed me back into my chair. "It is both,
or none," said he. "You may say before this gentle-
man anything which you may say to me."
The count shrugged his broad shoulders.
"Then I must begin," said he, " by binding you both
to absolute secrecy for two years, at the end of that
time the matter will be of no importance. At pres-
ent it is not too much to say that it is of such weight
that it may have an influence upon European his-
tory."


66 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"I promise," said Holmes.
"And I."
"You will excuse this mask," continued our
strange visitor. "The august person who employs
me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and I may
confess at once the title by which I have just called
myself is not exactly my own."
"I was aware of it," said Holmes, dryly.
"The circumstances are of great delicacy, and
every precaution has to be taken to quench what
might grow to be an immense scandal, and seriously
compromise one of the reigning families of Europe.
To speak plainly, the matter implicates the great
House of Ormstein, hereditary kings of Bohemia."
"I was also aware of that," murmured Holmes,
settling himself down in his armchair, and closing
his eyes.
Our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise
at the languid, lounging figure of the man who had
been, no doubt, depicted to him as the most incisive
reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe.
Holmes slowly reopened his eyes and looked im-
patiently at his gigantic client.
"If your majesty would condescend to state your
case," he remarked, "I should be better able to
advise you."
The man sprang from his chair, and paced up and
down the room in uncontrollable agitation. Then,
with a gesture of desperation, he tore the mask
from his face and hurled it upon the ground.
"You are right," he cried, "I am the king.
Why should I attempt to conceal it?"


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 67
"Why, indeed?" murmured Holmes. "Your
majesty had not spoken before I was aware that I
was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von
Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and he-
reditary King of Bohemia."
"But you can understand," said our strange
visitor, sitting down once more and passing his hand
over his high, white forehead, "you can understand
that I am not accustomed to doing such business in
my own person. Yet the matter was so delicate that
I could not confide it to an agent without putting
myself in his power. I have come incognito from
Prague for the purpose of consulting you."
"Then, pray consult," said Holmes, shutting his
eyes once more.
"The facts are briefly these: Some five years
ago, during a lengthy visit to Warsaw, I made the
acquaintance of the well-known adventuress Irene
Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you."
"Kindly look her up in my index, doctor," mur-
mured Holmes, without opening his eyes. For many
years he had adopted a system for docketing all
paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it
was difficult to name a subject or a person on which
he could not at once furnish information. In this
case I found her biography sandwiched in between
that of a Hebrew rabbi and that of a staff-com-
mander who had written a monograph upon the
deep-sea fishes.
"Let me see!" said Holmes. "Hum! Born
in New Jersey in the year of 1858. Contralto —


68 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
hum! La Scala — hum! Prima donna Imperial
Opera of Warsaw — yes! Retired from operatic
stage — ha! Living in London — quite so! Your
majesty, as I understand, became entangled with this
young person, wrote her some compromising letters,
and is now desirous of getting those letters back."
"Precisely so. But how"
"Was there a secret marriage?"
"None."
"No legal papers or certificates?"
"None."
"Then I fail to follow your majesty. If this
young person should produce her letters for black-
mailing or other purposes, how is she to prove their
authenticity?"
"There is the writing."
"Pooh-pooh! Forgery."
"My private note-paper."
"Stolen."
"My own seal."
"Imitated."
"My photograph."
"Bought."
"We were both in the photograph."
"Oh, dear! That is very bad. Your majesty
has indeed committed an indiscretion."
"I was mad — insane."
"You have compromised yourself seriously."
"I was only crown prince then. I was young.
I am but thirty now."
"It must be recovered."


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 69
"We have tried and failed."
"Your majesty must pay. It must be bought."
"She will not sell."
"Stolen, then."
"Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars
in my pay ransacked her house. Once we diverted
her luggage when she traveled. Twice she has been
waylaid. There has been no result."
"No sign of it?"
"Absolutely none."
Holmes laughed. "It is quite a pretty little prob-
lem," said he.
"But a very serious one to me," returned the
king, reproachfully.
"Very, indeed. And what does she propose to
do with the photograph?"
"To ruin me."
"But how?"
"I am about to be married."
"So I have heard."
"To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meiningen,
second daughter of the King of Scandinavia. You
may know the strict principles of her family. She
is herself the very soul of delicacy. A shadow of a
doubt as to my conduct would bring the matter to
an end."
"And Irene Adler?"
"Threatens to send them the photograph. And
she will do it. I know that she will do it. You
do not know her, but she has a soul of steel. She
has the face of the most beautiful of women and the


70 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
mind of the most resolute of men. Rather than I
should marry another woman, there are no lengths
to which she would not go — none."
"You are sure she has not sent it yet?"
"I am sure."
"And why?"
. "Because she has said that she would send it on
the day when the betrothal was publicly proclaimed.
That will be next Monday."
"Oh, then we have three days yet," said Holmes,
with a yawn. "That is very fortunate, as I have
one or two matters of importance to look into just
at present. Your majesty will, of course, stay in
London for the present?"
"Certainly. You will find me at the Langham,
under the name of Count von Kramm."
"Then I shall drop you a line to let you know
how we progress."
"Pray do so; I shall be all anxiety."
"Then, as to money?"
"You have carte blanche."
"Absolutely?"
"I tell you that I would give one of the provinces
of my kingdom to have that photograph."
"And for present expenses?"
The king took a heavy chamois leather bag from
under his cloak, and laid it on the table.
"There are three hundred pounds in gold, and
seven hundred in notes," he said.
Holmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his
notebook, and handed it to him.


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 71
"And mademoiselle's address?" he asked.
"Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John's
Wood."
Holmes took a note of it. "One other question,"
said he, thoughtfully. "Was the photograph a
cabinet?"
"It was."
"Then, good-night, your majesty, and I trust
that we shall soon have some good news for you.
And good-night, Watson," he added, as the wheels
of the royal brougham rolled down the street. "If
you will be good enough to call to-morrow afternoon,
at three o'clock, I should like to chat this little matter
over with you."
At three o'clock precisely I was at Baker Street,
but Holmes had not yet returned. The landlady
informed me that he had left the house shortly after
eight o'clock in the morning. I sat down beside
the fire, however, with the intention of awaiting him,
however long he might be. I was already deeply
interested in his inquiry, for, though it was sur-
rounded by none of the grim and strange features
which were associated with the two crimes which I
have already recorded, still, the nature of the case
and the exalted station of his client gave it a char-
acter of its own. Indeed, apart from the nature of
the investigation which my friend had on hand, there
was something in his masterly grasp of a situation,
and his keen, incisive reasoning, which made it a
pleasure to me to study his system of work, and to


72 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
follow the quick, subtle methods by which he disen-
tangled the most inextricable mysteries. So accus-
tomed was I to his invariable success that the very
possibility of his failing had ceased to enter into
my head.
It was close upon four before the door opened, and
a drunken-looking groom, ill-kempt and side-whisk-
ered, with an inflamed face and disreputable clothes,
walked into the room. Accustomed as I was to my
friend's amazing powers in the use of disguises, I
had to look three times before I was certain that it
was indeed he. With a nod he vanished into the
bedroom, whence he emerged in five minutes tweed-
suited and respectable, as of old. Putting his hands
into his pockets, he stretched out his legs in front
of the fire, and laughed heartily for some minutes.
"Well, really!" he cried, and then he choked,
and laughed again until he was obliged to lie back,
limp and helpless, in the chair.
"What is it?"
"It's quite too funny. I am sure you could never
guess how I employed my morning, or what I ended
by doing."
"I can't imagine. I suppose that you have been
watching the habits, and, perhaps, the house, of
Miss Irene Adler."
"Quite so, but the sequel was rather unusual. I
will tell you, however. I left the house a little after
eight o'clock this morning in the character of a groom
out of work. There is a wonderful sympathy and
freemasonry among horsy men. Be one of them,


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 73
and you will know all that there is to know. I soon
found Briony Lodge. It is a bijou villa, with a
garden at the back, but built out in front right up to
the road, two stories. Chubb lock to the door.
Large sitting-room on the right side, well furnished,
with long windows almost to the floor, and those
preposterous English window-fasteners which a child
could open. Behind there was nothing remarkable,
save that the passage window could be reached from
the top of the coach-house. I walked round it and
examined it closely from every point of view, but
without noting anything else of interest.
"I then lounged down the street, and found, as
I expected, that there was a mews in a lane which
runs down by one wall of the garden. I lent the
hostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses, and
I received in exchange twopence, a glass of half-and-
half, two fills of shag tobacco, and as much informa-
tion as I could desire about Miss Adler, to say noth-
ing of half a dozen other people in the neighborhood,
in whom I was not in the least interested, but whose
biographies I was compelled to listen to."
"And what of Irene Adler? " I asked.
"Oh, she has turned all the men's heads down in
that part. She is the daintiest thing under a bonnet
on this planet. So say the Serpentine Mews, to a
man. She lives quietly, sings at concerts, drives out
at five every day, and returns at seven sharp for
dinner. Seldom goes out at other times, except
when she sings. Has only one male visitor, but a
good deal of him. He is dark, handsome, and


74 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
dashing; never calls less than once a day, and often
twice. He is a Mr. Godfrey Norton of the Inner
Temple. See the advantages of a cabman as a con-
fidant. They had driven him home a dozen times
from Serpentine Mews, and knew all about him.
When I had listened to all that they had to tell, I
began to walk up and down near Briony Lodge once
more, and to think over my plan of campaign.
"This Godfrey Norton was evidently an im-
portant factor in the matter. He was a lawyer.
That sounded ominous. What was the relation be-
tween them, and what the object of his repeated
visits? Was she his client, his friend, or his mis-
tress? If the former, she had probably transferred
the photograph to his keeping. If the latter, it was
less likely. On the issue of this question depended
whether I should continue my work at Briony Lodge,
or turn my attention to the gentleman's chambers
in the Temple. It was a delicate point, and it
widened the field of my inquiry. I fear that I bore
you with these details, but I have to let you see my
little difficulties, if you are to understand the situa-
tion."
"I am following you closely," I answered.
"I was still balancing the matter in my mind,
when a hansom cab drove up to Briony Lodge, and
a gentleman sprang out. He was a remarkably
handsome man, dark, aquiline, and mustached —
evidently the man of whom I had heard. He ap-
peared to be in a great hurry, shouted to the cab-
man to wait, and brushed past the maid who opened


76 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
he could object. 'The Church of St. Monica,' said
I, 'and half a sovereign if you reach it in twenty
minutes.' It was twenty-five minutes to twelve, and
of course it was clear enough what was in the wind.
"My cabby drove fast. I don't think I ever
drove faster, but the others were there before us.
The cab and landau with their steaming horses were
in front of the door when I arrived. I paid the man,
and hurried into the church. There was not a soul
there save the two whom I had followed, and a
surpliced clergyman, who seemed to be expostulating
with them. They were all three standing in a knot
in front of the altar. I lounged up the side aisle
like any other idler who has dropped into a church.
Suddenly, to my surprise, the three at the altar faced
round to me, and Godfrey Norton came running as
hard as he could towards me.
"' Thank God!' he cried. 'You'll do. Come!
Come!'
'"What then?' I asked.
"' Come, man, come; only three minutes, or it
won't be legal.'
"I was half dragged up to the altar, and, before
I knew where I was, I found myself mumbling re-
sponses which were whispered in my ear, and vouch-
ing for things of which I knew nothing, and generally
assisting in the secure tying up of Irene Adler,
spinster, to Godfrey Norton, bachelor. It was all
done in an instant, and there was the gentleman
thanking me on the one side and the lady on the
other, while the clergyman beamed on me in front.


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 77,
It was the most preposterous position in which I
ever found myself in my life, and it was the thought
of it that started me laughing just now. It seems
that there had been some informality about their
license; that the clergyman absolutely refused to
marry them without a witness of some sort, and
that my lucky appearance saved the bridegroom from
having to sally out into the streets in search of a
best man. The bride gave me a sovereign, and I
mean to wear it on my watch-chain in memory of
the occasion."
"This is a very unexpected turn of affairs," said
I; "and what then?"
"Well, I found my plans very seriously menaced.
It looked as if the pair might take an immediate
departure, and to necessitate very prompt and ener-
getic measures on my part. At the church door,
however, they separated, he driving back to the
Temple, and she to her own house. 'I shall drive
out in the park at five as usual,' she said, as she left
him. I heard no more. They drove away in dif-
ferent directions, and I went off to make my own
arrangements."
"Which are?"
"Some cold beef and a glass of beer," he an-
swered, ringing the bell. "I have been too busy to
think of food, and I am likely to be busier still this
evening. By the way, doctor, I shall want your co-
operation."
"I shall be delighted."
"You don't mind breaking the law?"


78 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"Not in the least."
"Nor running a chance of arrest?"
"Not in a good cause."
"Oh, the cause is excellent!"
"Then I am your man."
"I was sure that I might rely on you."
"But what is it you wish?"
"When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I
will make it clear to you. Now," he said, as he
turned hungrily on the simple fare that our land-
lady had provided, "I must discuss it while I eat,
for I have not much time. It is nearly five now.
In two hours we must be on the scene of action.
Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns from her
drive at seven. We must be at Briony Lodge to
meet her."
"And what then?"
"You must leave that to me. I have already
arranged what is to occur. There is only one point
on which I must insist. You must not interfere,
come what may. You understand?"
"I am to be neutral?"
"To do nothing whatever. There will probably
be some small unpleasantness. Do not join in it.
It will end in my being conveyed into the house.
Four or five minutes afterwards the sitting-room
window will open. You are to station yourself close
to that open window."
"Yes."
"You are to watch me, for I will be visible to
you."


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 79
"Yes."
"And when I raise my hand — so — you will
throw into the room what I give you to throw, and
will, at the same time, raise the cry of fire. You
quite follow me?"
"Entirely."
"It is nothing very formidable," he said, taking
a long cigar-shaped roll from his pocket. "It is
an ordinary plumber's smoke-rocket, fitted with a
cap at either end, to make it self-lighting. Your
task is confined to that. When you raise your cry
of fire, it will be taken up by quite a number of
people. You may then walk to the end of the street,
and I will rejoin you in ten minutes. I hope that I
have made myself clear?"
"I am to remain neutral, to get near the window,
to watch you, and, at the signal, to throw in this
object, then to raise the cry of fire, and to wait for
you at the corner of the street."
"Precisely."
"Then you may entirely rely on me."
"That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is al-
most time that I prepared for the new role I have
to play."
He disappeared into his bedroom, and returned
in a few minutes in the character of an amiable
and simple-minded Nonconformist clergyman. His
broad, black hat, his baggy trousers, his white tie,
his sympathetic smile, and general look of peering
and benevolent curiosity were such as Mr. John
Hare alone could have equaled. It was not merely


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 81
her. It is cabinet size. Too large for easy con-
cealment about a woman's dress. She knows that
the king is capable of having her waylaid and
searched. Two attempts of the sort have already
been made. We may take it, then, that she does not
carry it about with her."
"Where, then?"
"Her banker or her lawyer. There is that
double possibility. But I am inclined to think
neither. Women are naturally secretive, and they
like to do their own secreting. Why should she
hand it over to any one else? She could trust her
own guardianship, but she could not tell what indirect
or political influence might be brought to bear upon
a business man. Besides, remember that she had
resolved to use it within a few days. It must be
where she can lay her hands upon it. It must be
in her own house."
"But it has twice been burglarized."
"Pshaw! They did not know how to look."
"But how will you look?"
"I will not look."
/'What then?"
"I will get her to show me."
"But she will refuse."
"She will not be able to. But I hear the rumble
of wheels. It is her carriage. Now carry out my
orders to the letter."
As he spoke, the gleam of the side-lights of a
carriage came round the curve of the avenue. It
was a smart little landau which rattled up to the


82 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
door of Briony Lodge. As it pulled up one of the
loafing men at the corner dashed forward to open the
door in the hope of earning a copper, but was el-
bowed away by another loafer who had rushed up
with the same intention. A fierce quarrel broke
out which was increased by the two guardsmen, who
took sides with one of the loungers, and by the
scissors-grinder, who was equally hot upon the other
side. A blow was struck, and in an instant the lady,
who had stepped from her carriage, was the center
of a little knot of struggling men who struck savagely
at each other with their fists and sticks. Holmes
dashed into the crowd to protect the lady; but, just
as he reached her, he gave a cry and dropped to the
ground, with the blood running freely down his face.
At his fall the guardsmen took to their heels in one
direction and the loungers in the other, while a
number of better dressed people who had watched
the scuffle without taking part in it crowded in to
help the lady and to attend to the injured man.
Irene Adler, as I will still call her, had hurried up
the steps; but she stood at the top, with her superb
figure outlined against the lights of the hall, look-
ing back into the street.
"Is the poor gentleman much hurt?" she asked.
"He is dead," cried several voices.
"No, no, there's life in him," shouted another.
"But he'll be gone before you can get him to the
hospital."
"He's a brave fellow," said a woman. "They
would have had the lady's purse and watch if it


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 83
hadn't been for him. They were a gang, and a
rough one, too. Ah! he's breathing now."
"He can't lie in the street. May we bring him
in, marm?"
"Surely. Bring him into the sitting-room.
There is a comfortable sofa. This way, please."
Slowly and solemnly he was borne into Briony Lodge,
and laid out in the principal room, while I still ob-
served the proceedings from my post by the window.
The lamps had been lighted, but the blinds had not
been drawn, so that I could see Holmes as he lay
upon the couch. I do not know whether he was
seized with compunction at that moment for the part
he was playing, but I know that I never felt more
heartily ashamed of myself in my life than when
I saw the beautiful creature against whom I was
conspiring, or the grace and kindliness with which
she waited upon the injured man. And yet it would
be the blackest treachery to Holmes to draw back
now from the part which he had intrusted to me.
I hardened my heart, and took the smoke-rocket
from under my ulster. After all, I thought, we are
not injuring her. We are but preventing her from
injuring another.
Holmes had sat upon the couch, and I saw him
motion like a man who is in need of air. A maid
rushed across and threw open the window. At the
same instant I saw him raise his hand, and at the
signal I tossed my rocket into the room with a cry of
"Fire!" The word no sooner out of my mouth
than the whole crowd of spectators, well dressed and


84 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
ill — gentlemen, hostlers, and servant-maids —
joined in a general shriek of " Fire!" Thick clouds
of smoke curled through the room, and out at the
open window. I caught a glimpse of rushing
figures, and a moment later the voice of Holmes
from within assuring them that it was a false alarm.
Slipping through the shouting crowd, I made my way
to the corner of the street, and in ten minutes was
rejoiced to find my friend's arm in mine, and to get
away from the scene of uproar. He walked swiftly
and in silence for some few minutes, until we had
turned down one of the quiet streets which led
towards the Edgeware Road.
"You did it very nicely, doctor," he remarked.
"Nothing could have been better. It is all right."
"You have the photograph?"
"I know where it is."
"And how did you find out?"
"She showed me, as I told you that she would."
"I am still in the dark."
"I do not wish to make a mystery," said he,
laughing. "The matter was perfectly simple.
You, of course, saw that every one in the street was
an accomplice. They were all engaged for the even-
ing."
"I guessed as much."
"Then, when the row broke out, I had a little
moist red paint in the palm of my hand. I rushed
forward, fell down, clapped my hand to my face, and
became a piteous spectacle. It is an old trick."
"That also I could fathom."


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 85
"Then they carried me in. She was bound to
have me in. What else could she do? And into
her sitting-room, which was the very room which I
suspected. It lay between that and her bedroom,
and I was determined to see which. They laid me
on a couch, I motioned for air, they were compelled
to open the window, and you had your chance."
"How did that help you?"
"It is all-important. When a woman thinks that
her house is on fire, her instinct is at once to rush to
the thing which she values most. It is a perfectly
overpowering impulse, and I have more than once
taken advantage of it. In the case of the Darling-
ton Substitution Scandal it was of use to me, and
also in the Arnsworth Castle business. A married
woman grabs at her baby — an unmarried one
reaches for her jewel-box. Now it was clear to me
that our lady of to-day had nothing in the house more
precious to her than what we are in quest of. She
would rush to secure it. The alarm of fire was ad-
mirably done. The smoke and shouting were
enough to shake nerves of steel. She responded beau-
tifully. The photograph is in a recess behind a slid-
ing panel just above the right bell-pull. She was there
in an instant, and I caught a glimpse of it as she drew
it out. When I cried out that it was a false alarm,
she replaced it, glanced at the rocket, rushed from
the room, and I have not seen her since. I rose,
and, making my excuses, escaped from the house. I
hesitated whether to attempt to secure the photo-
graph at once; but the coachman had come in, and as


86 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
he was watching me narrowly, it seemed safer to
wait. A little over-precipitance may ruin all."
"And now?" I asked.
"Our quest is practically finished. I shall call
with the king to-morrow, and with you, if you care
to come with us. We will be shown into the sitting-
room to wait for the lady, but it is probable that
when she comes she may find neither us nor the photo-
graph. It might be a satisfaction to his majesty to
regain it with his own hands."
"And when will you call?"
"At eight in the morning. She will not be up,
so that we shall have a clear field. Besides, we must
be prompt, for this marriage may mean a complete
change in her life and habits. I must wire to the
king without delay."
We had reached Baker Street and had stopped at
the door. He was searching his pockets for the key,
when some one passing said:
"Good-night, Mister Sherlock Holmes."
There were several people on the pavement at the
time, but the greeting appeared to come from a slim
youth in an ulster who had hurried by.
"I've heard the voice before," said Holmes, star-
ing down the dimly lighted street. "Now, I won-
der who the deuce that could have been?"
I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were
engaged upon our toast and coffee in the morning,
when the King of Bohemia rushed into the room.
"You have really got it?" he cried, grasping


88 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?" said she.
"I am Mr. Holmes," answered my companion,
looking at her with a questioning and rather startled
gaze.
"Indeed! My mistress told me that you were
likely to call. She left this morning, with her hus-
band, by the 5:15 train from Charing Cross, for the
Continent."
"What!" Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white
with chagrin and surprise.
"Do you mean that she has left England?"
"Never to return."
"And the papers?" asked the king, hoarsely.
"All is lost!"
"We shall see." He pushed past the servant, and
rushed into the drawing-room, followed by the king
and myself. The furniture was scattered about in
every direction, with dismantled shelves, and open
drawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked them
before her flight. Holmes rushed at the bell-pull,
tore back a small sliding shutter, and plunging in his
hand, pulled out a photograph and a letter. The
photograph was of Irene Adler herself in evening
dress; the letter was superscribed to "Sherlock
Holmes, Esq. To be left till called for." My
friend tore it open, and we all three read it together.
It was dated at midnight of the preceding night, and
ran in this way:
"My dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, — You really did it
very well. You took me in completely. Until after the


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 89
alarm of fire, I had not a suspicion. But then, when I
found how I had betrayed myself, I began to think. I had
been warned against you months ago. I had been told that
if the king employed an agent, it would certainly be you.
And your address had been given me. Yet, with all this,
you made me reveal what you wanted to know. Even after
I became suspicious, I found it hard to think evil of such a
dear, kind old clergyman. But, you know, I have been
trained as an actress myself. Male costume is nothing new
to me. I often take advantage of the freedom which it
gives. I sent John, the coachman, to watch you, ran up-
stairs, got into my walking clothes, as I call them and came
down just as you departed.
"Well, I followed you to the door, and so made sure that
I Was really an object of interest to the celebrated Mr.
Sherlock Holmes. Then I, rather imprudently, wished
you good-night, and started for the Temple to see my hus-
band.
"We both thought the best resource was flight, when
pursued by so formidable an antagonist; so you will find the
nest empty when you call to-morrow. As to the photograph,
your client may rest in peace. I love and am loved by a
better man than he. The king may do what he will without
hindrance from one whom he has cruelly wronged. I keep
it only to safeguard myself, and preserve a weapon which
will always secure me from any steps which he might take
in the future. I leave a photograph which he might care
to possess; and I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, very
truly yours,
"Irene Norton, nee Adler."
"What a woman — oh, what a woman!" cried
the King of Bohemia, when we had all three read


90 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
this epistle. "Did I not tell you how quick and
resolute she was? Would she not have made an
admirable queen? Is it not a pity that she was not
on my level?"
"From what I have seen of the lady, she seems,
indeed, to be on a very different level to your
majesty," said Holmes, coldly. "I am sorry that I
have not been able to bring your majesty's business to
a more successful conclusion."
"On the contrary, my dear sir," cried the king,
"nothing could be more successful. I know that
her word is inviolate. The photograph is now as
if it were in the fire."
"I am glad to hear your majesty say so."
"I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me
in what way I can reward you. This ring"
He slipped an emerald snake ring from his finger,
and held it out upon the palm of his hand.
"Your majesty has something which I should
value even more highly," said Holmes.
"You have but to name it."
"This photograph!"
The king stared at him in amazement.
"Irene's photograph!" he cried. "Certainly, if
you wish it."
"I thank your majesty. Then there is no more
to be done in the matter. I have the honor to wish
you a very good-morning." He bowed, and turn-
ing away without observing the hand which the king
had stretched out to him, he set off in my company
for his chambers.


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 91
And that was how a great scandal threatened to
affect the kingdom of Bohemia, and how the best
plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by a
woman's wit. He used to make merry over the
cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it
of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or
when he refers to her photograph, it is always under
the honorable title of the woman.





THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM
CABS
By Robert Louis Stevenson
Lieutenant Brackenbury Rich had greatly dis-
tinguished himself in one of the lesser Indian hill
wars. He it was who took the chieftain prisoner
with his own hand; his gallantry was universally
applauded; and when he came home, prostrated by
an ugly saber-cut and a protracted jungle fever, so-
ciety was prepared to welcome the lieutenant as a
celebrity of minor luster. But his was a character
remarkable for unaffected modesty; adventure was
dear to his heart, but he cared little for adulation;
and he waited at foreign watering-places and in
Algiers until the fame of his exploits had run
through its nine days' vitality and begun to be for-
gotten. He arrived in London at last, in the early
season, with as little observation as he could desire;
and as he was an orphan and had none but distant
relatives who lived in the provinces, it was almost
as a foreigner that he installed himself in the capital
of the country for which he had shed his blood.
On the day following his arrival he dined alone
at a military club. He shook hands with a few
old comrades, and received their warm congratula-
From "New Arabian Nights."
93


94 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
tions; but as one and all had some engagement for
the evening, he found himself left entirely to his
own resources. He was in dress, for he had enter-
tained the notion of visiting a theater. But the
great city was new to him; he had gone from a pro-
vincial school to a military college, and thence direct
to the Eastern Empire; and he promised himself
a variety of delights in this world for exploration.
Swinging his cane, he took his way westward. It
was a mild evening, already dark, and now and then
threatening rain. The succession of faces in the
lamp-light stirred the lieutenant's imagination; and
it seemed to him as if he could walk forever in that
stimulating city atmosphere and surrounded by the
mystery of four million private lives. He glanced
at the houses, and marveled what was passing be-
hind those warmly lighted windows; he looked into
face after face, and saw them each intent upon some
unknown interest, criminal or kindly.
"They talk of war," he thought, " but this is the
great battle-field of mankind."
And then he began to wonder that he should walk
so long in this complicated scene, and not chance
upon so much as the shadow of an adventure for
himself.
"All in good time," he reflected. "I am still a
stranger, and perhaps wear a strange air. But I
must be drawn into the eddy before long."
The night was already well advanced when a
plump of cold rain fell suddenly out of the darkness.
Brackenbury paused under some trees, and as he


96 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
Another hansom had just driven away, and Bracken-
bury could see a gentleman being admitted at the
front door and received by several liveried servants.
He was surprised that the cabman should have
stopped so immediately in front of a house where
a reception was being held; but he did not doubt it
was the result of accident, and sat placidly smoking
where he was, until he heard the trap thrown open
over his head.
"Here we are, sir," said the driver.
"Here!" repeated Brackenbury. "Where?"
"You told me to take you where I pleased, sir,"
returned the man with a chuckle, " and here we are."
It struck Brackenbury that the voice was wonder-
fully smooth and courteous for a man in so inferior
a position; he remembered the speed at which he had
been driven; and now it occurred to him that the
hansom was more luxuriously appointed than the
common run of public conveyances.
"I must ask you to explain," said he. "Do you
mean to turn me out into the rain? My good man,
I suspect the choice is mine."
"The choice is certainly yours," replied the
driver; "but when I tell you all, I believe I know
how a gentleman of your figure will decide. There
is a gentleman's party in this house. I do not know
whether the master be a stranger to London and
without acquaintances of his own; or whether he is
a man of odd notions. But certainly I was hired to
kidnap single gentlemen in evening dress, as many
as I pleased, but military officers by preference.


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 97
You have simply to go in and say that Mr. Morris
invited you."
"Are you Mr. Morris? " inquired the lieutenant.
"Oh, no," replied the cabman. "Mr. Morris
is the person of the house."
"It is not a common way of collecting guests,"
said Brackenbury; " but an eccentric man might very
well indulge the whim without any intention to of-
fend. And suppose that I refuse Mr. Morris's
invitation," he went on, "what then?"
"My orders are to drive you back where I took
you from," replied the man, "and set out to look
for others up to midnight. Those who have no
fancy for such an adventure, Mr. Morris said, were
not the guests for him."
These words decided the lieutenant on the spot.
"After all," he reflected, as he descended from
the hansom, "I have not had long to wait for my
adventure."
He had hardly found footing on the sidewalk, and
was still feeling in his pocket for the fare, when the
cab swung about and drove off by the way it came
at the former breakneck velocity. Brackenbury
shouted after the man, who paid no heed, and con-
tinued to drive away; but the sound of his voice was
overheard in the house, the door was again thrown
open, emitting a flood of light upon the garden, and
a servant ran down to meet him holding an um-
brella.
"The cabman has been paid," observed the serv-
ant in a very civil tone; and he proceeded to escort


98 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
Brackenbury along the path and up the steps. In the
hall several other attendants relieved him of his hat,
cane, and paletot, gave him a ticket with a number
in return, and politely hurried him up a stair adorned
with tropical flowers, to the door of an apartment
on the first story. Here a grave butler inquired
his name, and announcing " Lieutenant Brackenbury
Rich," ushered him into the drawing-room of the
house.
A young man, slender and singularly handsome,
came forward and greeted him with an air at once
courtly and affectionate. Hundreds of candles, of
the finest wax, lighted up a room that was perfumed,
like the staircase, with a profusion of rare and beau-
tiful flowering shrubs. A side-table was loaded with
tempting viands. Several servants went to and fro
with fruits and goblets of champagne. The com-
pany was perhaps sixteen in number, all men, few
beyond the prime of life, and, with hardly an ex-
ception, of a dashing and capable exterior. They
were divided into two groups, one about a roulette
board, and the other surrounding a table at which
one of their number held a bank of baccarat.
"I see," thought Brackenbury, " I am in a private
gambling saloon, and the cabman was a tout."
His eye had embraced the details, and his mind
formed the conclusion, while his host was still hold-
ing him by the hand; and to him his looks returned
from this rapid survey. At a second view Mr.
Morris surprised him still more than on the first.
The easy elegance of his manners, the distinction,


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 99
amiability, and courage that appeared upon his fea-
tures, fitted very ill with the lieutenant's preconcep-
tions on the subject of the proprietor of a hell; and
the tone of his conversation seemed to mark him
out for a man of position and merit. Brackenbury
found he had an instinctive liking for his entertainer;
and though he chid himself for the weakness, he
was unable to resist a sort of friendly attraction for
Mr. Morris's person and character.
"I have heard of you, Lieutenant Rich," said Mr.
Morris, lowering his tone; "and believe me I am
gratified to make your acquaintance. Your looks ac-
cord with the reputation that has preceded you from
India. And if you will forget for awhile the irregu-
larity of your presentation in my house, I shall feel
it not only an honor, but a genuine pleasure besides.
A man who makes a mouthful of barbarian cava-
liers," he added with a laugh, "should not be ap-
palled by a breach of etiquette, however serious."
And he led him toward the sideboard and pressed
him to partake of some refreshment.
"Upon my word," the lieutenant reflected, "this
is one of the pleasantest fellows, and, I do not doubt,
one of the most agreeable societies in London."
He partook of some champagne, which he found
excellent; and observing that many of the company
were already smoking, he lighted one of his own
Manillas, and strolled up to the roulette board, where
he sometimes made a stake and sometimes looked on
smilingly on the fortune of others. It was while he
was thus idling that he became aware of a sharp


100 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
scrutiny to which the whole of the guests were sub-
jected. Mr. Morris went here and there, ostensi-
bly busied on hospitable concerns; but he had ever
a shrewd glance at disposal; not a man of the party
escaped his sudden, searching looks; he took stock of
the bearing of heavy losers, he valued the amount
of the stakes, he paused behind couples who were
deep in conversation; and, in a word, there was
hardly a characteristic of any one present but he
seemed to catch and make a note of it. Bracken-
bury began to wonder if this were indeed a gambling
hell; it had so much the air of a private inquisition.
He followed Mr. Morris in all his movements; and
although the man had a ready smile, he seemed to
perceive, as it were under a mask, a haggard, care-
worn, and preoccupied spirit. The fellows around
him laughed and made their game; but Brackenbury
had lost interest in the guests.
"This Morris," thought he, "is no idler in the
room. Some deep purpose inspires him; let it be
mine to fathom it."
Now and then Mr. Morris would call one of his
visitors aside; and after a brief colloquy in an ante-
room, he would return alone, and the visitors in ques-
tion reappeared no more. After a certain number
of repetitions, this performance excited Bracken-
bury's curiosity to a high degree. He determined
to be at the bottom of this minor mystery at once;
and strolling into the anteroom, found a deep win-
dow recess concealed by curtains of the fashionable
green. Here he hurriedly ensconced himself; nor


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 101
had he to wait long before the sound of steps and
voices drew near him from the principal apartment.
Peering through the division, he saw Mr. Morris es-
corting a fat and ruddy personage, with somewhat
the look of a commerical traveler, whom Bracken-
bury had already remarked for his coarse laugh and
under-bred behavior at the table. The pair halted
immediately before the window, so that Brackenbury
lost not a word of the following discourse:
"I beg you a thousand pardons!" began Mr.
Morris, with the most conciliatory manner; "and,
if I appear rude, I am sure you will readily forgive
me. In a place so great as London accidents must
continually happen; and the best that we can hope
is to remedy them with as small delay as possible.
I will not deny that I fear you have made a mis-
take and honored my poor house by inadvertence;
for, to speak openly, I can not at all remember your
appearance. Let me put the question without un-
necessary circumlocution — between gentlemen of
honor a word will suffice — Under whose roof do
you suppose yourself to be?"
"That of Mr. Morris," replied the other, with
a prodigious display of confusion, which had been
visibly growing upon him throughout the last few
words.
"Mr. John or Mr. James Morris? " inquired the
host.
"I really can not tell you," returned the unfortu-
nate guest. "I am not personally acquainted with
the gentleman, any more than I am with yourself."


102 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"I see," said Mr. Morris. "There is another
person of the same name further down the street;
and I have no doubt the policeman will be able to
supply you with his number. Believe me, I felicitate
myself on the misunderstanding which has procured
me the pleasure of your company for so long; and
let me express a hope that we may meet again upon
a more regular footing. Meantime, I would not
for all the world detain you longer from your
friends. John," he added, raising his voice, "will
you see that this gentleman finds his great coat?"
And with the most agreeable air Mr. Morris es-
corted his visitor as far as the anteroom door, where
he left him under conduct of the butler. As he
passed the window, on his return to the drawing-
room, Brackenbury could hear him utter a profound
sigh, as though his mind was loaded with a great
anxiety, and his nerves already fatigued with the
task on which he was engaged.
For perhaps an hour the hansoms kept arriving
with such frequency, that Mr. Morris had to receive
a new guest for every old one that he sent away,
and the company preserved its number undiminished.
But toward the end of that time the arrivals grew
few and far between, and at length ceased entirely,
while the process of elimination was continued with
unimpaired activity. The drawing-room began to
look empty; the baccarat was discontinued for lack
of a banker; more than one person said good-night
of his own accord, and was suffered to depart with-
out expostulation; and in the meanwhile Mr. Morris


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 103
redoubled in agreeable attentions to those who
stayed behind. He went from group to group and
from person to person with looks of the readiest
sympathy, and the most pertinent and pleasing talk;
he was not so much like a host as like a hostess, and
there was a feminine coquetry and condescension in
his manner which charmed the hearts of all.
As the guests grew thinner, Lieutenant Rich
strolled for a moment out of the drawing-room into
the hall in quest of fresher air. But he had no
sooner passed the threshold of the ante-chamber than
he was brought to a dead halt by a discovery of the
most surprising nature. The flowering shrubs had
disappeared from the staircase; three large furni-
ture-wagons stood before the garden gate; the serv-
ants were busy dismantling the house upon all sides;
and some of them had already donned their great-
coats and were preparing to depart. It was like
the end of a country ball, where everything has been
supplied by contract. Brackenbury had indeed some
matter for reflection. First, the guests, who were
no real guests after all, had been dismissed, and now
the servants, who could hardly be genuine servants,
were actively dispersing.
"Was the whole establishment a sham? " he asked
himself. "The mushroom of a single night which
should disappear before morning?"
Watching a favorable opportunity, Brackenbury
dashed upstairs to the higher regions of the house.
It was as he had expected. He ran from room to
room, and saw not a stick of furniture nor so much


104 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
as a picture on the walls. Altogether the house had
been painted and papered, it was not only uninhab-
ited at present, but plainly had never been inhabited
at all. The young officer remembered with aston-
ishment its spacious, settled, and hospitable air on
his arrival. It was only at a prodigious cost that
the imposture could have been carried out upon so
great a scale.
Who, then, was Mr. Morris? What was his in-
tention in thus playing the householder for a single
night in the remote west of London? And why did
he collect his visitors at hazard from the streets?
Brackenbury remembered that he had already de-
layed too long, and hastened to join the company.
Many had left during his absence; and counting the
lieutenant and his host, there were not more than five
persons in the drawing-room — recently so thronged.
Mr. Morris greeted him, as he reentered the apart-
ment, with a smile, and immediately rose to his feet.
"It is now time, gentlemen," said he, " to explain
my purpose in decoying you from your amusements.
I trust you did not find the evening hang very dully
on your hands; but my object, I will confess it, was
not to entertain your leisure, but to help myself in
an unfortunate necessity. You are all gentlemen,"
he continued, " your appearance does you that much
justice, and I ask for no better security. Hence I
speak it without concealment. I ask you to render
me a dangerous and delicate service; dangerous be-
cause you may run the hazard of your lives, and
delicate because I must ask an absolute discretion


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 105
upon all that you shall see or hear. From an utter
stranger the request is almost comically extravagant;
I am well aware of this; and I would add at once,
if there be any one present who has heard enough,
if there be one among the party who recoils from
a dangerous confidence and a piece of quixotic de-
votion to he knows not whom — here is my hand
ready, and I shall wish him good-night and God-
speed with all the sincerity in the world."
A very tall, black man, with a heavy stoop, im-
mediately responded to this appeal.
"I commend your frankness, sir," said he; " and,
for my part, I go. I make no reflections; but I
can not deny that you fill me with suspicious thoughts.
I go myself, as I say; and perhaps you will think
I have no right to add words to my example."
"On the contrary," replied Mr. Morris, "I am
obliged to you for all you say. It would be impos-
sible to exaggerate the gravity of my proposal."
"Well, gentlemen, what do you say?" said the
tall man, addressing the others. "We have had
our evening's frolic; shall we all go homeward peace-
ably in a body? You will think well of my sugges-
tion in the morning when you see the sun again in
innocence and safety."
The speaker pronounced the last words with an
intonation which added to their force; and his face
wore a singular expression, full of gravity and signifi-
cance. Another of the company rose hastily, and,
with some appearance of alarm, prepared to take
his leave. There were only two who held their


106 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
ground, Brackenbury and an old red-nosed cavalry
major; but these two preserved a nonchalant de-
meanor, and, beyond a look of intelligence which
they rapidly exchanged, appeared entirely foreign
to the discussion that had just been terminated.
Mr. Morris conducted the deserters as far as the
door, which he closed upon their heels; then he
turned round, disclosing a countenance of mingled
relief and animation, and addressed the two officers
as follows:
"I have chosen my men like Joshua in the Bible,"
said Mr. Morris, "and I now believe I have the
pick of London. Your appearance pleased my han-
som cabmen; then it delighted me; I have watched
your behavior in a strange company, and under the
most unusual circumstances; I have studied how you
played and how you bore your losses; lastly, I have
put you to the test of a staggering announcement,
and you received it like an invitation to dinner. It
is not for nothing," he cried, " that I have been for
years the companion and the pupil of the bravest and
wisest potentate in Europe."
"At the affair of Bunderchang," observed the
major, "I asked for twelve volunteers, and every
trooper in the ranks replied to my appeal. But a
gaming-party is not the same thing as a regiment
under fire. You may be pleased, I suppose, to have
found two, and two who will not fail you at a push.
As for the pair who ran away, I count them among
the most pitiful hounds I ever met with. Lieutenant
Rich," he added, addressing Brackenbury, "I have


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 109
The colonel consulted his watch.
"It is now hard on two," he said. "We have an
hour before us, and a swift cab is at the door. Tell
me if I may count upon your help."
"During a long life," replied Major O'Rooke,
"I never took back my hand from anything, nor
so much as hedged a bet."
Brackenbury signified his readiness in the most be-
coming terms; and after they had drunk a glass or
two of wine, the colonel gave each of them a loaded
revolver, and the three mounted into the cab and
drove off for the address in question.
Rochester House was a magnificent residence on
the banks of the canal. The large extent of the gar-
den isolated it in an unusual degree from the an-
noyances of the neighborhood. It seemed the pare
aux cerfs of some great nobleman or millionaire.
As far as could be seen from the street, there was
not a glimmer of light in any of the numerous win-
dows of the mansion; and the place had a look of
neglect, as though the master had long been from
home.
The cab was discharged, and the three gentlemen
were not long in discovering the small door, which
was a sort of postern in a lane between two garden-
walls. It still wanted ten or fifteen minutes of the
appointed time; the rain fell heavily and the adven-
turers sheltered themselves below some pendant ivy,
and spoke in low tones of the approaching trial.
Suddenly Geraldine raised his finger to command
silence, and all three bent their hearing to the utmost.


110 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
Through the continuous noise of the rain, the steps
and voices of two men became audible from the
other side of the wall; and, as they drew nearer,
Brackenbury, whose sense of hearing was remarkably
acute, could even distinguish some fragments of their
talk.
"Is the grave dug? " asked one.
"It is," replied the other; "behind the laurel
hedge. When the job is done, we can cover it with
a pile of stakes."
The first speaker laughed, and the sound of his
merriment was shocking to the listeners on the other
side.
"In an hour from now," he said.
And by the sound of the steps it was obvious that
the pair had separated, and were proceeding in con-
trary directions.
Almost immediately after the postern door was
cautiously opened, a white face was protruded into
the lane, and a hand was seen beckoning to the
watchers. In dead silence, the three passed the
door, which was immediately locked behind them,
and followed their guide through several garden
alleys to the kitchen entrance of the house. A sin-
gle candle burned in the great paved kitchen, which
was destitute of the customary furniture; and as the
party proceeded to ascend from thence by a flight of
winding stairs, a prodigious noise of rats testified
still more plainly to the dilapidation of the house.
Their conductor preceded them, carrying the
candle. He was a lean man, much bent, but still


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS HI
agile; and he turned from time to time and admon-
ished silence and caution by his gestures. Colonel
Geraldine followed on his heels, the case of swords
under one arm, and a pistol ready in the other.
Brackenbury's heart beat thickly. He perceived
that they were still in time; but he judged from the
alacrity of the old man that the hour of action must
be near at hand; and the circumstances of this adven-
ture were so obscure and menacing, the place seemed
so well chosen for the darkest acts, that an older man
than Brackenbury might have been pardoned a meas-
ure of emotion as he closed the procession up the
winding stair.
At the top the guide threw open a door and
ushered the three officers before him into a small
apartment, lighted by a smoky lamp and the glow of
a modest fire. At the chimney corner sat a man in
the early prime of life, and of a stout but courtly
and commanding appearance. His attitude and ex-
pression were those of the most unmoved composure;
he was smoking a cheroot with much enjoyment and
deliberation, and on a table by his elbow stood a long
glass of some effervescing beverage which diffused an
agreeable odor through the room.
"Welcome," said he, extending his hand to
Colonel Geraldine. "I knew I might count on your
exactitude."
"On my devotion," replied the colonel, with a
bow.
"Present me to your friends," continued the first;
and, when that ceremony had been performed, "I


112 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
wish, gentlemen," he added, with the most exquisite
affability, "that I could offer you a more cheerful
program; it is ungracious to inaugurate an ac-
quaintance upon serious affairs; but the compulsion
of events is stronger than the obligation of good
fellowship. I hope and believe you will be able to
forgive me this unpleasant evening; and for men of
your stamp it will be enough to know that you are
conferring a considerable favor."
"Your highness," said the major, "must pardon
my bluntness. I am unable to hide what I know.
For some time back I have suspected Major Ham-
mersmith, but Mr. Godall is unmistakable. To seek
two men in London unacquainted with Prince
Florizel of Bohemia was to ask too much of For-
tune's hands."
"Prince Florizel!" cried Brackenbury in amaze-
ment.
And he gazed with the deepest interest on the fea-
tures of the celebrated personage before him.
"I shall not lament the loss of my incognito," re-
marked the prince, " for it enables me to thank you
with the more authority. You would have done as
much for Mr. Godall, I feel sure, as for the Prince
of Bohemia; but the latter can perhaps do more for
you. The gain is mine," he added, with a courteous
gesture.
And the next moment he was conversing with the
two officers about the Indian army and the native
troops, a subject on which, as on all others, he had
a remarkable fund of information and the soundest
views.


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 113
There was something so striking in this man's at-
titude at a moment of deadly peril that Brackenbury
was overcome with respectful admiration; nor was he
less sensible to the charm of his conversation or the
surprising amenity of his address. Every gesture,
every intonation, was not only noble in itself, but
seemed to ennoble the fortunate mortal for whom it
was intended; and Brackenbury confessed to himself
with enthusiasm that this was a sovereign for whom
a brave man might thankfully lay down his life.
Many minutes had thus passed, when the person
who had introduced them into the house, and w.ho
had sat ever since in a corner, and with his watch in
his hand, arose and whispered a word into the
prince's ear.
"It is well, Dr. Noel," replied Florizel aloud; and
then addressing the others, "You will excuse me,
gentlemen," he added, "if I have to leave you in
the dark. The moment now approaches."
Dr. Noel extinguished the lamp. A faint, gray
light, premonitory of the dawn, illuminated the win-
dow, but was not sufficient to illuminate the room;
and when the prince rose to his feet, it was impos-
sible to distinguish his features or to make a guess
at the nature of the emotion which obviously affected
him as he spoke. He moved toward the door, and
placed himself at one side of it in an attitude of the
wariest attention.
"You will have the kindness," he said, " to main-
tain the strictest silence, and to conceal yourselves
in the densest of the shadows."


114 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
The three officers and the physician hastened to
obey, and for nearly ten minutes the only sound in
Rochester House was occasioned by the excursions of
the rats behind the wood-work. At the end of that
period, a loud creak of a hinge broke in with sur-
prising distinctness on the silence; and shortly after,
the watchers could distinguish a low and cautious
tread approaching up the kitchen stair. At every
second step the intruder seemed to pause and lend
an ear, and during these intervals, which seemed of
an incalculable duration, a profound disquiet pos-
sessed the spirit of the listeners. Dr. Noel, accus-
tomed as he was to dangerous emotions, suffered an
almost pitiful physical prostration; his breath
whistled in his lungs, his teeth grated one upon an-
other, and his joints cracked aloud as he nervously
shifted his position.
At last a hand was laid upon the door, and a bolt
shot back with a slight report. There followed an-
other pause, during which Brackenbury could see the
prince draw himself together noiselessly as if for
some unusual exertion. Then the door opened, let-
ting in a little more of the light of the morning; and
the figure of a man appeared upon the threshold and
stood motionless. He was tall, and carried a knife
in his hand. Even in the twilight they could see his
upper teeth bare and glistening, for his mouth was
open like that of a hound about to leap. The man
had evidently been over his head in water but a min-
ute or two before; and even while he stood there
the drops kept falling from his wet clothes and
pattered on the floor.


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 115
The next moment he crossed the threshold.
There was a leap, a stifled cry, an instantaneous
struggle; and before Colonel Geraldine could spring
to his aid, the prince held the man, disarmed and
helpless, by the shoulders.
"Dr. Noel," he said, "you will be so good as to
relight the lamp."
And relinquishing the charge of his prisoner to
Geraldine and Brackenbury, he crossed the room and
set his back against the chimney-piece. As soon as
the lamp had kindled, the party beheld an unac-
customed sternness on the prince's features. It was
no longer Florizel, the careless gentleman; it was the
Prince of Bohemia, justly incensed and full of deadly
purpose, who now raised his head and addressed the
captive president of the Suicide Club.
"President," he said, "you have laid your last
snare, and your own feet are taken in it. The day is
beginning; it is your last morning. You have just
swum the Regent's Canal; it is your last bathe in this
world. Your old accomplice, Dr. Noel, so far from
betraying me, has delivered you into my hands for
judgment. And the grave you had dug for me this
afternoon shall serve, in God's almighty providence,
to hide your own just doom from the curiosity of
mankind. Kneel and pray, sir, if you have a mind
that way; for your time is short, and God is weary
of your iniquities."
The president made no answer either by word or
sign; but continued to hang his head and gaze sullenly
on the floor, as though he were conscious of the
prince's prolonged and unsparing regard.


116 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"Gentlemen," continued Florizel, resuming the or-
dinary tone of his conversation, "this is a fellow
who has long eluded me, but whom, thanks to Dr.
Noel, I now have tightly by the heels. To tell the
story of his misdeeds would occupy more time than
we can now afford; but if the canal had contained
nothing but the blood of his victims, I believe the
wretch would have been no drier than you see him.
Even in an affair of this sort I desire to preserve the
forms of honor. But I make you the judges, gentle-
men— this is more an execution than a duel; and to
give the rogue his choice of weapons would be to push
too far a point of etiquette. I can not afford to
lose my life in such a business," he continued, un-
locking the case of swords; "and as a pistol-bullet
travels so often on the wings of chance, and skill
and courage may fall by the most trembling marks-
man, I have decided, and I feel sure you will approve
of my determination, to put this question to the touch
of swords."
When Brackenbury and Major O'Rooke, to whom
these remarks were particularly addressed, had each
intimated his approval, "Quick, sir," added Prince
Florizel to the president, "choose a blade and do
not keep me waiting; I have an impatience to be
done with you forever."
For the first time since he was captured and dis-
armed the president raised his head, and it was
plain that he began instantly to pluck up courage.
"Is it to be stand up?" he asked eagerly, "and
between you and me?"


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 117
"I mean so far to honor you," replied the
prince.
"Oh, come!" cried the president. "With a fair
field, who knows how things may happen? I must
add that I consider it handsome behavior on your
highness's part; and if the worst comes to the worst
I shall die by one of the most gallant gentlemen in
Europe."
And the president, liberated by those who had de-
tained him, stepped up to the table and began, with
minute attention, to select a sword. He was highly
elated, and seemed to feel no doubt that he should
issue victorious from the contest. The spectators
grew alarmed in the face of so entire a confidence,
and adjured Prince Florizel to reconsider his inten-
tion.
"It is but a farce," he answered; " and I think I
can promise you, gentlemen, that it will not be long
a-playing."
"Your highness will be careful not to overreach,"
said Colonel Geraldine.
"Geraldine," returned the prince, "did you ever
know me fail in a debt of honor? I owe you this
man's death, and you shall have it."
The president at last satisfied himself with one of
the rapiers, and signified his readiness by a gesture
that was not devoid of a rude nobility. The near-
ness of peril, and the sense of courage, even to this
obnoxious villain, lent an air of manhood and a cer-
tain grace.
The prince helped himself at random to a sword.


118 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"Colonel Geraldine and Dr. Noel," he said,
"will have the goodness to await me in this room.
I wish no personal friend of mine to be involved in
this transaction. Major O'Rooke, you are a man of
some years and a settled reputation — let me rec-
ommend the president to your good graces.
Lieutenant Rich will be so good as to lend me his
attention: a young man can not have too much ex-
perience in such affairs."
"Your highness," replied Brackenbury, "it is an
honor I shall prize extremely."
"It is well," returned Prince Florizel; "I shall
hope to stand your friend in more important cir-
cumstances."
And so saying he led the way out of the apart-
ment and down the kitchen stairs.
The two men who were thus left alone threw open
the window and leaned out, straining every sense to
catch an indication of the tragical events that were
about to follow. The rain was now over; day had
almost come, and the birds were piping in the shrub-
bery and on the forest trees of the garden. The
prince and his companions were visible for a mo-
ment as they followed an alley between two flowering
thickets: but at the first corner a clump of foliage in-
tervened, and they were again concealed from view.
This was all that the colonel and the physician had
an opportunity to see, and the garden was so vast,
and the place of combat evidently so remote from
the house, that not even the noise of sword-play
reached their ears.


THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS 119
"He has taken him toward the grave," said Dr.
Noel, with a shudder.
"God," cried the colonel, "God defend the
right!"
And they awaited the event in silence, the doctor
shaking with fear, the colonel in an agony of sweat.
Many minutes must have elapsed, the day was sen-
sibly broader, and the birds were singing more
heartily in the garden before a sound of returning
footsteps recalled their glances toward the door. It
was the prince and the two Indian officers who en-
tered. God had defended the right.
"I am ashamed of my emotion," said Prince
Florizel; "I feel it is a weakness unworthy of my
station, but the continued existence of that hound of
hell had begun to prey upon me like a disease, and his
death has more refreshed me than a night of slum-
ber. Look, Geraldine," he continued, throwing his
sword upon the floor, " there is the blood of the man
who killed your brother. It should be a welcome
sight. And yet," he added, " see how strangely we
men are made! My revenge is not yet five minutes
old, and already I am beginning to ask myself if even
revenge be attainable on this precarious stage of
life. The ill he did, who can undo it? The career
in which he amassed a huge fortune (for the house
itself in which we stand belonged to him) — that
career is now a part of the destiny of mankind for-
ever; and I might weary myself making thrusts in
carte until the crack of judgment, and Geraldine's
brother would be none the less dead, and a thousand


120 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
other innocent persons would be none the less dis-
honored and debauched! The existence of a man is
so small a thing to take, so mighty a thing to em-
ploy! Alas!" he cried, "is there anything in life
so disenchanting as attainment?"
"God's justice has been done," replied the doctor.
"So much I behold. The lesson, your highness, has
been a cruel one for me; and I await my own turn
with deadly apprehension."
"What was I saying?" cried the prince. "I
have punished, and here is the man beside us who can
help me to undo. Ah, Dr. Noel! you and I have be-
fore us many a day of hard and honorable toil; and
perhaps, before we have done, you may have more
than redeemed your early errors."
"And in the meantime," said the doctor, "let me
go and bury my oldest friend."


THE ADVENTURE OF THE TOADSTOOLS
By Sax Rohmer
Darkness was about us now, and silence: a per-
fumed, slumberous darkness — a silence full of mys-
tery. For, beyond the walls of the apartment
whereon we looked down waged the unceasing battle
of sounds that is the hymn of the great industrial
river. About the scented confines which bounded us
now floated the smoke-laden vapors of the Lower
Thames.
From the metallic but infinitely human clangor of
dock-side life, from the unpleasant but homely odors
which prevail where ships swallow in and belch out
the concrete evidences of commercial prosperity, we
had come into this incensed stillness, where one
shaded lamp painted dim enlargements of its Chinese
silk upon the nearer walls, and left the greater part
of the room the darker for its contrast.
Nothing of the Thames-side activity — of the
riveting and scraping — the bumping of bales —
the bawling of orders — the hiss of steam — pene-
trated to this perfumed place. In the pool of tinted
light lay the deathlike figure of a dark-haired boy,
Karamaneh's muffled form bending over him.
From "The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu," Copyright, 1913, by
McBride, Nast & Co.
121


122 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"At last I stand in the house of Dr. Fu-Manchu!"
whispered Smith.
Despite the girl's assurance, we knew that prox-
imity to the sinister Chinaman must be fraught with
danger. We stood, not in the lion's den, but in the
serpent's lair.
From the time when Nayland Smith had come
from Burma in pursuit of this advance-guard of a
cogent Yellow Peril, the face of Dr. Fu-Manchu
rarely had been absent from my dreams day or night.
The millions might sleep in peace — the millions in
whose cause we labored! — but we who knew the
reality of the danger knew that a veritable octopus
had fastened upon England — a yellow octopus
whose head was that of Dr. Fu-Manchu, whose
tentacles were dacoity, thuggee, modes of death,
secret and swift, which in the darkness plucked men
from life and left no clew behind.
"Karamaneh!" I called softly.
The muffled form beneath the lamp turned so that
the soft light fell upon the lovely face of the slave
girl. She who had been a pliant instrument in the
hands of Fu-Manchu now was to be the means
whereby society should be rid of him.
She raised her finger warningly; then beckoned
me to approach.
My feet sinking in the rich pile of the carpet, I
came through the gloom of the great apartment in
to the patch of light, and, Karamaneh beside me,
stood looking down upon the boy. It was Aziz, her
brother; dead so far as Western lore had power to


THE ADVENTURE OF THE TOADSTOOLS 123
judge, but kept alive in that deathlike trance by the
uncanny power of the Chinese doctor.
"Be quick," she said; " be quick! Awaken him!
I am afraid."
From the case which I carried I took out a needle-
syringe and a phial containing a small quantity of
amber-hued liquid. It was a drug not to be found in
the British Pharmacopoeia. Of its constitution I
knew nothing. Although I had had the phial in my
possession for some days I had not dared to devote
any of its precious contents to analytical purposes.
The amber drops spelled life for the boy Aziz,
spelled success for the mission of Nayland Smith,
spelled ruin for the fiendish Chinaman.
I raised the white coverlet. The boy, fully
dressed, lay with his arms crossed upon his breast.
I discerned the mark of previous injections as, charg-
ing the syringe from the phial, I made what I hoped
would be the last of such experiment upon him. I
would have given half of my small worldly posses-
sions to have known the real nature of the drug
which was now coursing through the veins of Aziz
— which was tinting the grayed face with the olive
tone of life; which, so far as my medical training
bore me, was restoring the dead to life.
But such was not the purpose of my visit. I was
come to remove from the house of Dr. Fu-Manchu
the living chain which bound Karamaneh to him.
The boy alive and free, the Doctor's hold upon the
slave girl would be broken.
My lovely companion, her hands convulsively


124 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
clasped, knelt and devoured with her eyes the face
of the boy who was passing through the most amaz-
ing physiological change in the history of therapeu-
tics. The peculiar perfume which she wore —
which seemed to be a part of her — which always
I associated with her — was faintly perceptible.
Karamaneh was breathing rapidly.
"You have nothing to fear," I whispered; "see,
he is reviving. In a few moments all will be well
with him."
The hanging lamp with its garishly colored shade
swung gently above us, wafted, it seemed, by some
draught which passed through the apartment. The
boy's heavy lids began to quiver, and Karamaneh
nervously clutched my arm, and held me so whilst
we watched for the long-lashed eyes to open. The
stillness of the place was positively unnatural; it
seemed inconceivable that all about us was the dis-
cordant activity of the commercial East End. In-
deed, this eerie silence was becoming oppressive; it
began positively to appall me.
Inspector Weymouth's wondering face peeped
over my shoulder.
"Where is Dr. Fu-Manchu?" I whispered, as
Nayland Smith in turn appeared beside me. "I
cannot understand the silence of the house —"
"Look about," replied Karamaneh, never tak-
ing her eyes from the face of Aziz.
I peered around the shadowy walls. Tall glass
cases there were, shelves and niches: where once,
from the gallery above, I had seen the tubes and re-


THE ADVENTURE OF THE TOADSTOOLS 125
torts, the jars of unfamiliar organisms, the books
of unfamiliar lore, the impedimenta of the occult
student and man of science — the visible evidences
of Fu-Manchu's presence. Shelves — cases —
niches — were bare. Of the complicated appliances
unknown to civilized laboratories, wherewith he
pursued his strange experiments, of the tubes
wherein he isolated the bacilli of unclassified diseases,
of the yellow-bound volumes for a glimpse at which
(had they known of their contents) the great men
of Harley Street would have given a fortune — no
trace remained. The silken cushions; the inlaid
tables; all were gone.
The room was stripped, dismantled. Had Fu-
Manchu fled? The silence assumed a new signifi-
cance. His dacoits and kindred ministers of death
all must have fled, too.
"You have let him escape us!" I said rapidly.
"You promised to aid us to capture him — to send
us a message — and you have delayed until —"
"No," she said; " no!" and clutched at my arm
again. "Oh! is he not reviving slowly? Are you
sure you have made no mistake?"
Her thoughts were all of the boy; and her solici-
tude touched me. I again examined Aziz, the most
remarkable patient of my busy professional career.
As I counted the strengthening pulse, he opened
his dark eyes — which were so like the eyes of
Karamaneh — and, with the girl's eager arms tightly
about him, sat up, looking wonderingly around.
Karamaneh pressed her cheek to his, whispering


THE ADVENTURE OF THE TOADSTOOLS 127
it to lie within his reach. Her eyes were twin lakes
of mystery which, more than once, I had known the
desire to explore.
"Look — beyond that curtain " — her voice was
barely audible —" but do not enter. Even as he is,
I fear him."
Her voice, her palpable agitation, prepared us
for something extraordinary. Tragedy and Fu-
Manchu were never far apart. Though we were
two, and help was so near, we were in the abode
of the most cunning murderer who ever came out
of the East.
It was with strangely mingled emotions that I
crossed the thick carpet, Nayland Smith beside me,
and drew aside the draperies concealing a door, to
which Karamaneh had pointed. Then, upon look-
ing into the dim place beyond, all else save what it
held was forgotten.
We looked upon a small, square room, the walls
draped with fantastic Chinese tapestry, the floor
strewn with cushions; and reclining in a corner,
where the faint, blue light from a lamp, placed upon
a low table, painted grotesque shadows about the
cavernous face — was Dr. Fu-Manchu!
At sight of him my heart leaped — and seemed
to suspend its functions, so intense was the hor-
ror which this man's presence inspired in me. My
hand clutching the curtain, I stood watching him.
The lids veiled the malignant green eyes, but the
thin lips seemed to smile. Then Smith silently
pointed to the hand which held a little pipe. A


128 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
sickly perfume assailed my nostrils, and the explana-
tion of the hushed silence, and the ease with which
we had thus far executed our plan, came to me.
The cunning mind was torpid — lost in a brutish
world of dreams.
Fu-Manchu was in an opium sleep!
The dim light traced out a network of tiny lines,
which covered the yellow face from the pointed chin
to the top of the great domed brow, and formed
deep shadow pools in the hollows beneath his eyes.
At last we had triumphed.
I could not determine the depth of his obscene
trance; and mastering some of my repugnance, and
forgetful of Karamaneh's warning, I was about to
step forward into the room, loaded with its nauseat-
ing opium fumes, when a soft breath fanned my
cheek.
"Do not go in!" came Karamaneh's warning
voice — hushed — trembling.
Her little hand grasped my arm. She drew
Smith and myself back from the door.
"There is danger there! " she whispered. "Do
not enter that room! The police must reach him
in some way — and drag him out! Do not enter
that rooml"
The girl's voice quivered hysterically; her eyes
blazed into savage flame. The fierce resentment
born of dreadful wrongs was consuming her now;
but fear of Fu-Manchu held her yet. Inspector
Weymouth came down the stairs and joined us.
"I have sent the boy to Ryman's room at the


THE ADVENTURE OF THE TOADSTOOLS 129
station," he said. "The divisional surgeon will
look after him until you arrive, Dr. Petrie. All
is ready now. The launch is just off the wharf
and every side of the place is under observation.
Where's our man?"
He drew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket
and raised his eyebrows interrogatively. The ab-
sence of sound — of any demonstration from the
uncanny Chinaman whom he was there to arrest —
puzzled him.
Nayland Smith jerked his thumb toward the cur-
tain.
At that, and before we could utter a word, Wey-
mouth stepped to the draped door. He was a man
who drove straight at his goal and saved reflections
for subsequent leisure. I think, moreover, that the
atmosphere of the place (stripped as it was it re-
tained its heavy, voluptuous perfume) had begun to
get a hold upon him. He was anxious to shake
it off; to be up and doing.
He pulled the curtain aside and stepped into the
room. Smith and I perforce followed him. Just
within the door the three of us stood looking across
at the limp thing which had spread terror through-
out the Eastern and Western world. Helpless as
Fu-Manchu was, he inspired terror now, though the
giant intellect was inert — stupefied.
In the dimly lit apartment we had quitted I heard
Karamaneh utter a stifled scream. But it came too
late.
As though cast up by a volcano, the silken cush-


130 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
ions, the inlaid table with its blue-shaded lamp, the
garish walls, the sprawling figure with the ghastly
light playing upon its features — quivered, and shot
upward!
So it seemed to me; though, in the ensuing instant
I remembered, too late, a previous experience of the
floors of Fu-Manchu's private apartments; I knew
what had indeed befallen us. A trap had been re-
leased beneath our feet.
I recall falling — but have no recollection of the
end of my fall — of the shock marking the drop.
I only remember fighting for my life against a stifling
something which had me by the throat. I knew
that I was being suffocated, but my hands met only
the deathly emptiness.
Into a poisonous well of darkness I sank. I could
not cry out. I was helpless. Of the fate of my
companions I knew nothing — could surmise noth-
ing.
Then ... all consciousness ended.
I was being carried along a dimly lighted, tunnel-
like place, slung, sackwise, across the shoulder of
a Burman. He was not a big man, but he supported
my considerable weight with apparent ease. A
deadly nausea held me, but the rough handling had
served to restore me to consciousness. My hands
and feet were closely lashed. I hung limply as a wet
towel: I felt that this spark of tortured life which
had flickered up in me must ere long finally become
extinguished.


132 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
floors of the cellars, I realized that he was carrying
the inert body of Inspector Weymouth. And I
found time to compare the strength of the little
brown man with that of a Nile beetle, which can
raise many times its own weight.
Then, behind him, appeared a second figure,
which immediately claimed the whole of my errant
attention.
"Fu-Manchu!" hissed my friend, from the dark-
ness which concealed him.
It was indeed none other than Fu-Manchu — the
Fu-Manchu whom we had thought to be helpless.
The deeps of a Chinaman's cunning — the fine qual-
ity of his courage, were forced upon me as amazing
facts.
He had assumed the appearance of a drugged
opium-smoker so well as to dupe me — a medical
man; so well as to dupe Karamaneh— whose ex-
perience of the noxious habit probably was greater
than my own. And, with the gallows dangling be-
fore him, he had waited — played the part of a
lure — whilst a body of police actually surrounded
the place!
I have since thought that the room probably was
one which he actually used for opium debauches, and
the device of the trap was intended to protect him
during the comatose period.
Now, holding a lantern above his head, the de-
viser of the trap whereinto we, mouselike, had
blindly entered, came through the cellars, following
the brown man who carried Weymouth. The faint


THE ADVENTURE OF THE TOADSTOOLS 133
rays of the lantern (it apparently contained a candle)
revealed a veritable forest of the gigantic fungi —
poisonously colored — hideously swollen — climb-
ing from the floor up the slimy walls — clinging like
horrid parasites to such part of the arched roof as
was visible to me.
Fu-Manchu picked his way through the fungi
ranks as daintily as though the distorted, tumid
things had been viper-headed.
The resounding blows which I had noted before,
and which had never ceased, culminated in a splinter-
ing crash. Dr. Fu-Manchu and his servant, who
carried the apparently insensible detective, passed
in under the arch, Fu-Manchu glancing back once
along the passages. The lantern he extinguished,
or concealed; and whilst I waited, my mind fully
surveying memories of all the threats which this
uncanny being had uttered, a distant clamor came
to my ears.
Then, abruptly, it ceased. Dr. Fu-Manchu had
closed a heavy door; and to my surprise I perceived
that the greater part of it was glass. The will-o'-
the-wisp glow which played around the fungi ren-
dered the vista of the cellars faintly luminous, and
visible to me from where I lay. Fu-Manchu spoke
softly. His voice, its guttural note alternating with
a sibilance on certain words, betrayed no traces of
agitation. The man's unbroken calm had in it some-
thing inhuman. For he had just perpetrated an act
of daring unparalleled in my experience, and, in the
clamor now shut out by the glass door I tardily


134 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
recognized the entrance of the police into some
barricaded part of the house — the coming of those
who would save us — who would hold the Chinese
doctor for the hangman!
"I have decided," he said deliberately, " that you
are more worthy of my attention than I had formerly
supposed. A man who can solve the secret of the
Golden Elixir" (I had not solved it; I had merely
stolen some) " should be a valuable acquisition to my
Council. The extent of the plans of Mr. Commis-
sioner Nayland Smith and of the English Scotland
Yard it is incumbent upon me to learn. Therefore,
gentlemen, you live—for the present!"
"And you'll swing," came Weymouth's hoarse
voice, "in the near future! You and all your
yellow gang!"
"I trust not," was the placid reply. "Most of
my people are safe: some are shipped as lascars
upon the liners; others have departed by different
means. Ah!"
That last word was the only one indicative of
excitement which had yet escaped him. A disk of
light danced among the brilliant poison hues of the
passages — but no sound reached us; by which I
knew that the glass door must fit almost hermetically.
It was much cooler here than in the place through
which we had passed, and the nausea began to leave
me, my brain to grow more clear. Had I known
what was to follow I should have cursed the lucidity
of mind which now came to me; I should have
prayed for oblivion — to be spared the sight of that
which ensued.


THE ADVENTURE OF THE TOADSTOOLS 135
"It's Logan!" cried Inspector Weymouth: and
I could tell that he was struggling to free himself
of his bonds. From his voice it was evident that
he, too, was recovering from the effects of the nar-
cotic which had been administered to us all.
"Logan!" he cried. "Logan! This way —
help!"
But the cry beat back upon us in that enclosed
space and seemed to carry no farther than the in-
visible walls of our prison.
"The door fits well," came Fu-Manchu's mocking
voice. "It is fortunate for us all that it is so.
This is my observation window, Dr. Petrie, and
you are about to enjoy an unique opportunity of
studying fungology. I have already drawn your at-
tention to the anaesthetic properties of the lycoper-
don, or common puff-ball. You may have recog-
nized the fume^? The chamber into which you
rashly precipitated yourselves was charged with
them. By a process of my own I have greatly en-
hanced the value of the puff-ball in this respect.
Your friend, Mr. Weymouth, proved the most ob-
stinate subject; but he succumbed in fifteen seconds."
"Logan! Help! Help! This way, man!"
Something very like fear sounded in Weymouth's
voice now. Indeed, the situation was so uncanny
that it almost seemed unreal. A group of men had
entered the farthermost cellars, led by one who bore
an electric pocket-lamp. The hard, white ray
danced from bloated gray fungi to others of night-
mare shape, of dazzling, venomous brilliance. The
mocking, lecture-room voice continued:


136 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"Note the snowy growth upon the roof, Doctor.
Do not be deceived by its size. It is a giant variety
of my own culture and is of the order empusa.
You, in England, are familiar with the death of the
common house-fly — which is found attached to the
window-pane by a coating of white mold. I have
developed the spores of this mold and have produced
a giant species. Observe the interesting effect of
the strong light upon my orange and blue amanita
fungus!"
Hard beside me I heard Nayland Smith groan,
Weymouth had become suddenly silent. For my
own part, I could have shrieked in pure horror.
For I knew what was coming. I realized in one
agonized instant the significance of the dim lantern,
of the careful progress through the subterranean
fungi grove, of the care with which Fu-Manchu and
his servant had avoided touching any of the growths.
I knew, now, that Dr. Fu-Manchu was the greatest
fungologist the world had ever known; was a poi-
soner to whom the Borgias were as children — and
I knew that the detectives blindly were walking into a
valley of death.
Then it began — the unnatural scene — the
saturnalia of murder.
Like so many bombs the brilliantly colored caps
of the huge toadstool-like things alluded to by the
Chinaman exploded, as the white ray sought them
out in the darkness which alone preserved their ex-
istence. A brownish cloud — I could not determine
whether liquid or powdery — arose in the cellar.


THE ADVENTURE OF THE TOADSTOOLS 137
I tried to close my eyes — or to turn them away
from the reeling forms of the men who were trapped
in that poison-hole. It was useless: I must look.
The bearer of the lamp had dropped it, but the
dim, eerily illuminated gloom endured scarce a
second. A bright light sprang up — doubtless at the
touch of the fiendish being who now resumed speech:
"Observe the symptoms of delirium, Doctor!"
Out there, beyond the glass door, the unhappy
victims were laughing — tearing their garments
from their bodies — leaping — waving their arms
— were become maniacs!
"We will now release the ripe spores of giant
empusa," continued the wicked voice. "The air of
the second cellar being super-charged with oxygen,
they immediately germinate. Ah! it is a triumph!
That process is the scientific triumph of my life!"
Like powdered snow the white spores fell from
the roof, frosting the writhing shapes of the already
poisoned men. Before my horrified gaze, the
fungus grew; it spread from the head to the feet
of those it touched; it enveloped them as in glitter-
ing shrouds. . . .
"They die like flies!" screamed Fu-Manchu, with
a sudden febrile excitement; and I felt assured of
something I had long suspected: that that magnifi-
cent, perverted brain was the brain of a homicidal
maniac — though Smith would never accept the
theory.
"It is my fly-trap!" shrieked the Chinaman.
"And I am the god of destruction!"





140 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
I'd chuck up cricket to-morrow, Bunny, if it wasn't
for the glorious protection it affords a person of my
proclivities."
"How so?" said I. "It brings you before the
public, I should have thought, far more than is
either safe or wise."
"My dear Bunny, that's exactly where you make
a mistake. To follow Crime with reasonable im-
punity you simply must have a parallel, ostensible
career — the more public the better. The principle
is obvious. Mr. Peace, of pious memory, disarmed
suspicion by acquiring a local reputation for playing
the fiddle and taming animals, and it's my profound
conviction that Jack the Ripper was a really eminent
public man, whose speeches were very likely reported
alongside his atrocities. Fill the bill in some promi-
nent part, and you'll never be suspected of doubling
it with another of equal prominence. That's why
I want you to cultivate journalism, my boy, and sign
all you can. And it's the one and only reason why
I don't burn my bats for firewood."
Nevertheless, when he did play there was no
keener performer on the field, nor one more anxious
to do well for his side. I remember how he went
to the nets, before the first match of the season,
with his pocket full of sovereigns, which he put on
the stumps instead of bails. It was a sight to see
the professionals bowling like demons for the hard
cash, for whenever a stump was hit a pound was
tossed to the bowler and another balanced in its
stead, while one man took £3 with a ball that spread-


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 141
eagled the wicket. Raffles's practice cost him either
eight or nine sovereigns; but he had absolutely first-
class bowling all the time; and he made fifty-seven
runs next day.
It became my pleasure to accompany him to all his
matches, to watch every ball he bowled, or played,
or fielded, and to sit chatting with him in the pavilion
when he was doing none of these three things. You
might have seen us there, side by side, during the
greater part of the Gentlemen's first innings against
the Players (who had lost the toss) on the second
Monday in July. We were to be seen, but not
heard, for Raffles had failed to score, and was un-
commonly cross for a player who cared so little for
the game. Merely taciturn with me, he was posi-
tively rude to more than one member who wanted to
know how it had happened, or who ventured to com-
miserate him on his luck; there he sat, with a straw
hat tilted over his nose and a cigarette stuck between
lips that curled disagreeably at every advance. I
was therefore much surprised when a young fellow
of the exquisite type came and squeezed himself in
between us, and met with a perfectly civil reception
despite the liberty. I did not know the boy by sight,
nor did Raffles introduce us; but their conversation
proclaimed at once a slightness of acquaintanceship
and a license, on the lad's part, which combined to
puzzle me. Mystification reached its height when
Raffles was informed that the other's father was anx-
ious to meet him, and he instantly consented to
gratify that whim.


142 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"He's in the Ladies' Enclosure. Will you come
round now?"
"With pleasure," says Raffles. "Keep a place
for me, Bunny."
And they were gone.
"Young Crowley," said some voice further back.
"Last year's Harrow Eleven."
"I remember him. Worst man in the team."
"Keen cricketer, however. Stopped till he was
twenty to get his colors. Governor made him.
Keen breed. Oh, pretty, sir! Very pretty!"
The game was boring me. I only came to see old
Raffles perform. Soon I was looking wistfully for
his return, and at length I saw him beckoning me
from the palings to the right.
"Want to introduce you to old Amersteth," he
whispered, when I joined him. "They've a cricket
week next month, when this boy Crowley comes of
age, and we've both got to go down and play."
"Both!" I echoed. "But I'm no cricketer!"
"Shut up," says Raffles. "Leave that to me.
I've been lying for all I'm worth," he added sepul-
chrally as we reached the bottom of the steps. "I
trust to you not to give the show away."
There was the gleam in his eye that I knew well
enough elsewhere, but was unprepared for in those
healthy, sane surroundings; and it was with very de-
finite misgivings and surmises that I followed the
Zingari blazer through the vast flower-bed of hats
and bonnets that bloomed beneath the ladies' awn-
ing.


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 143
Lord Amersteth was a fine-looking man with a
short mustache and a double chin. He received
me with much dry courtesy, through which, however,
it was not difficult to read a less flattering tale. I
was accepted as the inevitable appendage of the in-
valuable Raffles, with whom I felt deeply incensed as
I made my bow.
"I have been bold enough," said Lord Amer-
steth, " to ask one of the Gentlemen of England to
come down and play some rustic cricket for us next
month. He is kind enough to say that he would
have liked nothing better, but for this little fishing
expedition of yours, Mr. , Mr. ," and Lord
Amersteth succeeded in remembering my name.
It was, of course, the first I had ever heard of that
fishing expedition, but I made haste to say that it
could easily, and should certainly, be put off.
Raffles gleamed approval through his eyelashes.
Lord Amersteth bowed and shrugged.
"You're very good, I'm sure," said he. "But I
understand you're a cricketer yourself?"
"He was one at school," said Raffles, with in-
famous readiness.
"Not a real cricketer," I was stammering mean-
while.
"In the eleven? " said Lord Amersteth.
"I'm afraid not," said I.
"But only just out of it," declared Raffles, to my
horror.
"Well, well, we can't all play for the Gentlemen,"
said Lord Amersteth slyly. "My son Crowley only


144 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
just scraped into the eleven at Harrow, and he's go-
ing to play. I may even come in myself at a pinch;
so you won't be the only duffer, if you are one, and I
shall be very glad if you will come down and help
us too. You shall flog a stream before breakfast
and after dinner, if you like."
"I should be very proud," I was beginning, as
the mere prelude to resolute excuses; but the eye of
Raffles opened wide upon me; and I hesitated weakly,
to be duly lost.
"Then that's settled," said Lord Amersteth, with
the slightest suspicion of grimness. "It's to be a
little week, you know, when my son comes of age.
We play the Free Foresters, the Dorsetshire Gentle-
men, and probably some local lot as well. But Mr.
Raffles will tell you all about it, and Crowley shall
write. Another wicket! By Jove, they're all out!
Then I rely on you both." And, with a little nod,
Lord Amersteth rose and sidled to the gangway.
Raffles rose also, but I caught the sleeve of his
blazer.
"What are you thinking of?" I whispered
savagely. "I was nowhere near the eleven. I'm
no sort of cricketer. I shall have to get out of
this!"
"Not you," he whispered back. "You needn't
play, but come you must. If you wait for me after
half-past six I'll tell you why."
But I could guess the reason; and I am ashamed to
say that it revolted me much less than did the notion
of making a public fool of myself on a cricket-field.


146 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
head-work and handiwork, which made every over an
artistic whole. It was all so characteristic of that
other Raffles whom I alone knew!
"I felt like bowling this afternoon," he told me
later in the hansom. "With a pitch to help me,
I'd have done something big; as it is, three for
forty-one, out of the four that fell, isn't so bad for
a slow bowler on a plumb wicket against those fel-
lows. But I felt venomous! Nothing riles me more
than being asked about for my rricket as though I
were a pro. myself."
"Then why on earth go?"
"To punish them, and — because we shall be jolly
hard up, Bunny, before the season's over!"
"Ah!" said I. "I thought it was that."
"Of course, it was! It seems they're going to
have the very devil of a week of it — balls —
dinner-parties — swagger house-party — general
junketings — and obviously a houseful of diamonds
as well. Diamonds galore! As a general rule noth-
ing would induce me to abuse my position as a guest.
I've never done it, Bunny. But in this case we're
engaged like the waiters and the band, and by heaven
we'll take our toll! Let's have a quiet dinner some-
where and talk it over."
"It seems rather a vulgar sort of theft," I could
not help saying; and to this, my single protest,
Raffles instantly assented.
"It is a vulgar sort," said he; "but I can't helpi
that. We're getting vulgarly hard up again, and
there's an end on 't. Besides, these people deserve


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 147
it, and can afford it. And don't you run away with
the idea that all will be plain sailing; nothing will be
easier than getting some stuff, and nothing harder
than avoiding all suspicion, as, of course, we must.
We may come away with no more than a good work-
ing plan of the premises. Who knows? In any
case there's weeks of thinking in it for you and me."
But with those weeks I will not weary you further
than by remarking that the "thinking," was done
entirely by Raffles, who did not always trouble to
communicate his thoughts to me. His reticence,
however, was no longer an irritant. I began to ac-
cept it as a necessary convention of these little enter-
prises. And, after our last adventure of the kind,
more especially after its denouement, my trust in
Raffles was much too solid to be shaken by a want of
trust in me, which I still believe to have been more
the instinct of the criminal than the judgment of the
man.
It was on Monday, the tenth of August, that we
were due at Milchester Abbey, Dorset; and the be-
ginning of the month found us cruising about that
very county, with fly-rods actually in our hands.
The idea was that we should acquire at once a local
reputation as decent fishermen, and some knowledge
of the countryside, with a view to further and more
deliberate operations in the event of an unprofitable
week. There was another idea which Raffles kept
to himself until he had got me down there. Then
one day he produced a cricket-ball in a meadow we
were crossing, and threw me catches for an hour


148 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
together. More hours he spent in bowling to me
on the nearest green; and, if I was never a cricketer,
at least I came nearer to being one, by the end of
that week, than ever before or since.
Incident began early on the Monday. We had
sallied forth from a desolate little junction within
quite a few miles of Milchester, had been caught in
a shower, had run for shelter to a wayside inn. A
florid, over-dressed man was drinking in the parlor,
and I could have sworn it was at the sight of him
that Raffles recoiled on the threshold, and afterwards
insisted on returning to the station through the rain.
He assured me, however, that the odor of stale ale
had almost knocked him down. And I had to make
what I could of his speculative, down-cast eyes and
knitted brows.
Milchester Abbey is a grey, quadrangular pile,
deep-set in rich woody country, and twinkling with
triple rows of quaint windows, every one of which
seemed alight as we drove up just in time to dress
for dinner. The carriage had whirled us under I
know not how many triumphal arches in process of
construction, and past the tents and flag-poles of a
juicy-looking cricket-field, on which Raffles under-
took to bowl up to his reputation. But the chief
signs of festival were within, where we found an
enormous house-party assembled, including more per-
sons of pomp, majesty, and dominion than I had
ever encountered in one room before. I confess I
felt overpowered. Our errand and my own pre-
tenses combined to rob me of an address upon which


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 149
I have sometimes plumed myself; and I have a grim
recollection of my nervous relief when dinner was at
last announced. I little knew what an ordeal it was
to prove.
I had taken in a much less formidable young lady
than might have fallen to my lot. Indeed I began
by blessing my good fortune in this respect. Miss
Melhuish was merely the rector's daughter, and she
had only been asked to make an even number. She
informed me of both facts before the soup reached
us, and her subsequent conversation was character-
ized by the same engaging candor. It exposed what
was little short of a mania for imparting informa-
tion. I had simply to listen, to nod, and to be thank-
ful. When I confessed to knowing very few of those
present, even by sight, my entertaining companion
proceeded to tell me who everybody was, beginning
on my left and working conscientiously round to her
right. This lasted quite a long time, and really in-
terested me; but a great deal that followed did not;
and, obviously to recapture my unworthy attention,
Miss Melhuish suddenly asked me, in a sensational
whisper, whether I could keep a secret.
I said I thought I might, whereupon another ques-
tion followed, in still lower and more thrilling ac-
cents:
"Are you afraid of burglars?"
Burglars! I was roused at last. The word
stabbed me. I repeated it in horrified query.
"So I've found something to interest you at
last!" said Miss Melhuish, in naive triumph. "Yes


150 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
— burglars! But don't speak so loud. It's sup-
posed to be kept a great secret. I really oughtn't
to tell you at all!"
"But what is there to tell?" I whispered with
satisfactory impatience.
"You promise not to speak of it?"
"Of course!"
"Well, then, there are burglars in the neighbor-
hood."
"Have they committed any robberies?"
"Not yet."
"Then how do you know?"
"They've been seen. In the district. Two well-
known London thieves!"
Two! I looked at Raffles. I had done so often
during the evening, envying him his high spirits, his
iron nerve, his buoyant wit, his perfect ease and self-
possession. But now I pitied him; through all my
own terror and consternation, I pitied him as he sat
eating and drinking, and laughing and talking, with-
out a cloud of fear or of embarrassment on his hand-
some, taking, daredevil face. I caught up my
champagne and emptied the glass.
"Who has seen them?" I then asked calmly.
"A detective. They were traced down from
town a few days ago. They are believed to have
designs on the Abbey!"
"But why aren't they run in?"
"Exactly what I asked papa on the way here this
evening; he says there is no warrant out against the
men at present, and all that can be done is to watch
their movements."


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 151
"Oh! so they are being watched?"
"Yes, by a detective who is down here on purpose.
And I heard Lord Amersteth tell papa that they had
been seen this afternoon at Warbeck Junction!"
The very place where Raffles and I had been
caught in the rain! Our stampede from the inn was
now explained; on the other hand, I was no longer
to be taken by surprise by anything that my com-
panion might have to tell me; and I succeeded in
looking her in the face with a smile.
"This is really quite exciting, Miss Melhuish,"
said I. "May I ask how you come to know so
much about it?"
"It's papa," was the confidential reply. "Lord
Amersteth consulted him, and he consulted me.
But for goodness' sake don't let it get about! I
can't think what tempted me to tell you!"
"You may trust me, Miss Melhuish. But —
aren't you frightened?"
Miss Melhuish giggled.
"Not a bit! They won't come to the rectory.
There's nothing for them there. But look round the
table: look at the diamonds: look at old Lady Mel-
rose's necklace alone!"
The Dowager Marchioness of Melrose was one
of the few persons whom it had been unnecessary to
point out to me. She sat on Lord Amersteth's right,
flourishing her ear-trumpet, and drinking champagne
with her usual notorious freedom, as dissipated and
kindly a dame as the world has ever seen. It was a
necklace of diamonds and sapphires that rose and
fell about her ample neck.


152 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"They say it's worth five thousand pounds at
least," continued my companion. "Lady Margaret
told me so this morning (that's Lady Margaret next
your Mr. Raffles, you know) ; and the old dear will
wear them every night. Think what a haul they
would be! No; we don't feel in immediate danger
at the rectory."
When the ladies rose, Miss Melhuish bound me
to fresh vows of secrecy; and left me, I should think,
with some remorse for her indiscretion, but more
satisfaction at the importance which it had un-
doubtedly given her in my eyes. The opinion may
smack of vanity, though, in reality, the very springs
of conversation reside in that same human, universal
itch to thrill the auditor. The peculiarity of Miss
Melhuish was that she must be thrilling at all costs.
And thrilling she had surely been.
I spare you my feelings of the next two hours. I
tried hard to get a word with Raffles, but again and
again I failed. In the dining-room he and Crowley
lit their cigarettes with the same match, and had
their heads together all the time. In the drawing-
room I had the mortification of hearing him talk in-
terminable nonsense into the ear-trumpet of Lady
Melrose, whom he knew in town. Lastly, in the
billiard-room, they had a great and lengthy pool,
while I sat aloof and chafed more than ever in the
company of a very serious Scotchman, who had ar-
rived since dinner, and who would talk of nothing
but the recent improvements in instantaneous photo-
graphy. He had not come to play in the matches


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 153
(he told me), but to obtain for Lord Amersteth
such a series of cricket photographs as had never
been taken before; whether as an amateur or a pro-
fessional photographer I was unable to determine.
I remember, however, seeking distraction in little
bursts of resolute attention to the conversation of
this bore. And so at last the long ordeal ended;
glasses were emptied, men said good-night, and I
followed Raffles to his room.
"It's all up!" I gasped, as he turned up the gas
and I shut the door. "We're being watched.
We've been followed down from town. There's a
detective here on the spot!"
"How do you know?" asked Raffles, turning
upon me quite sharply, but without the least dismay.
And I told him how I knew.
"Of course," I added, " it was the fellow we saw
in the inn this afternoon."
"The detective?" said Raffles. "Do you mean
to say you don't know a detective when you see one,
Bunny?"
"If that wasn't the fellow, which is?"
Raffles shook his head.
"To think that you've been talking to him for
the last hour in the billiard-room and couldn't spot
what he was!"
"The Scotch photographer"
I paused aghast.
"Scotch he is," said Raffles, "and photographer
he may be. He is also Inspector Mackenzie of
Scotland Yard — the very man I sent the message to


154 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
that night last April. And you couldn't spot who he
was in a whole hour! O Bunny, Bunny, you were
never built for crime!"
"But," said I, "if that was Mackenzie, who was
the fellow you bolted from at Warbeck?"
"That man he's watching."
"But he's watching us!"
Raffles looked at me with a pitying eye, and shook
his head again before handing me his open cigarette-
case.
"I don't know whether smoking's forbidden in
one's bedroom, but you'd better take one of these
and stand tight, Bunny, because I'm going to say
something offensive."
I helped myself with a laugh.
"Say what you like, my dear fellow, if it really
isn't you and I that Mackenzie's after."
"Well, then, it isn't, and it couldn't be, and no-
body but a born Bunny would suppose for a moment
that it was! Do you seriously think he would sit
there and knowingly watch his man playing pool
under his nose? Well, he might; he's a cool hand,
Mackenzie; but I'm not cool enough to win a pool
under such conditions. At least I don't think I am;
it would be interesting to see. The situation wasn't
free from strain as it was, though I knew he wasn't
thinking of us. Crowley told me all about it after
dinner, you see, and then I'd seen one of the men
for myself this afternoon. You thought it was a
detective who made me turn tail at that inn. I
really don't know why I didn't tell you at the time,


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 155
but it was just the opposite. That loud, red-faced
brute is one of the cleverest thieves in London, and
I once had a drink with him and our mutual fence.
I was an Eastender from tongue to toe at the mo-
ment, but you will understand that I don't run un-
necessary risks of recognition by a brute like that."
"He's not alone, I hear."
"By no means; there's at least one other man
with him; and it's suggested that there may be an
accomplice here in the house."
"Did Lord Crowley tell you so?"
"Crowley and the champagne between them. In
confidence, of course, just as your girl told you; but
even in confidence he never let on about Mackenzie.
He told me there was a detective in the background,
but that was all. Putting him up as a guest is evi-
dently their big secret, to be kept from the other
guests because it might offend them, but more par-
ticularly from the servants whom he's here to watch.
That's my reading of the situation, Bunny, and you
will agree with me that it's infinitely more interesting
than we could have imagined it would prove."
"But infinitely more difficult for us," said I, with
a sigh of pusillanimous relief. "Our hands are
tied for this week, at all events."
"Not necessarily, my dear Bunny, though I admit
that the chances are against us. Yet I'm not so
sure of that either. There are all sorts of pos-
sibilities in these three-cornered combinations. Set
A to watch B, and he won't have an eye left for
C. That's the obvious theory, but then Mackenzie's


156 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
a very big A. I should be sorry to have any boodle
about me with that man in the house. Yet it would
be great to nip in between A and B and score off
them both at once! It would be worth a risk,
Bunny, to do that; it would be worth risking some-
thing merely to take on old hands like B and his
men at their own old game! Eh, Bunny? That
would be something like a match. Gentlemen and
Players at single wicket, by Jove!"
His eyes were brighter than I had known them for
many a day. They shone with the perverted en-
thusiasm which was roused in him only by the con-
templation of some new audacity. He kicked off his
shoes and began pacing his room with noiseless rapid-
ity; not since the night of the Old Bohemian dinner
to Reuben Rosenthall had Raffles exhibited such
excitement in my presence; and I was not sorry at
the moment to be reminded of the fiasco to which
that banquet had been the prelude.
"My dear A. J.," said I in his very own tone,
"you're far too fond of the uphill game; you will
eventually fall a victim to the sporting spirit and
nothing else. Take a lesson from our last escape,
and fly lower as you value our skins. Study the
house as much as you like, but do — not — go and
shove your head in Mackenzie's mouth!"
My wealth of metaphor brought him to a stand-
still, with his cigarette between his fingers and a
grin beneath his shining eyes.
"You're quite right, Bunny. I won't. I really
won't. Yet — you saw old Lady Melrose's neck-


158 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
greater duffers than I on the Abbey cricket field.
Indeed, quite early in the week, when it was of most
value to me, I gained considerable kudos for a lucky
catch; a ball, of which I had merely heard the hum,
stuck fast in my hand, which Lord Amersteth him-
self grasped in public congratulation. This happy
accident was not to be undone even by me, and, as
nothing succeeds like success, and the constant en-
couragement of the one great cricketer on the field
was in itself an immense stimulus, I actually made a
run or two in my very next innings. Miss Melhuish
said pretty things to me that night at the great ball
in honor of Viscount Crowley's majority; she also
told me that was the night on which the robbers
would assuredly make their raid, and was full of
arch tremors when we sat out in the garden, though
the entire premises were illuminated all night long.
Meanwhile the quiet Scotchman took countless photo-
graphs by day, which he developed by night in a dark
room admirably situated in the servants' part of the
house; and it is my firm belief that only two of his
fellow-guests knew Mr. Clephane of Dundee for
Inspector Mackenzie of Scotland Yard.
The week was to end with a trumpery match on
the Saturday, which two or three of us intended
abandoning early in order to return to town that
night. The match, however, was never played. In
the small hours of the Saturday morning a tragedy
took place at Milchester Abbey.
Let me tell of the thing as I saw and heard it.
My room opened upon the central gallery, and was


160 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
And he went leaping down the stairs, as other
doors opened and Lord Amersteth and his son ap-
peared simultaneously in their pajamas. At that
my man ceased struggling; but I was still holding
him when Crowley turned up the gas.
"What the devil's all this?" asked Lord Amer-
steth, blinking. "Who was that ran downstairs?"
"Mac — Clephane!" said I hastily.
"Aha!" said he, turning to the footman. "So
you're the scoundrel, are you? Well done! Well
done! Where was he caught?"
I had no idea.
"Here's Lady Melrose's door open," said
Crowley. "Lady Melrose! Lady Melrose!"
"You forget she's deaf," said Lord Amersteth.
"Ah! that'll be her maid."
An inner door had opened; next instant there was
a little shriek, and a white figure gesticulated on the
threshold.
"Ou done est l'ecrin de Madame la Marquise?
La fenetre est ouverte. II a disparu!"
"Window open and jewel-case gone, by Jove!"
exclaimed Lord Amersteth. "Mais comment est
Madame la Marquise? Est elle bien?"
"Oui, milor. Elle dort."
"Sleeps through it all," said my lord. "She's
the only one, then!"
"What made Mackenzie — Clephane — bolt?"
young Crowley asked me.
"Said there were more of them below."
"Why the devil couldn't you tell us so before?"


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 161
he cried, and went leaping downstairs in his turn.
He was followed by nearly all the cricketers, who
now burst upon the scene in a body, only to desert it
for the chase. Raffles was one of them, and I would
gladly have been another, had not the footman
chosen this moment to hurl me from him, and to
make a dash in the direction from which they had
come. Lord Amersteth had him in an instant; but
the fellow fought desperately, and it took the two of
us to drag him downstairs, amid a terrified chorus
from half-open doors. Eventually we handed him
over to two other footmen who appeared with their
nightshirts tucked into their trousers, and my host
was good enough to compliment me as he led the
way outside.
"I thought I heard a shot," he added. "Didn't
you?"
"I thought I heard three."
And out we dashed into the darkness.
I remember how the gravel pricked my feet, how
the wet grass numbed them as we made for the sound
of voices on an outlying lawn. So dark was the
night that we were in the cricketers' midst before we
saw the shimmer of their pajamas; and then Lord
Amersteth almost trod on Mackenzie as he lay pros-
trate in the dew.
"Who's this? " he cried. "What on earth's hap-
pened?"
"It's Clephane," said a man who knelt over him.
"He's got a bullet in him somewhere."
"Is he alive?"


162 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"Barely."
"Good God! Where's Crowley?"
"Here I am," called a breathless voice. "It's no
good, you fellows. There's nothing to show which
way they've gone. Here's Raffles; he's chucked it,
too." And they ran up panting.
"Well, we've got one of them, at all events,"
muttered Lord Amersteth. "The next thing is to
get this poor fellow indoors. Take his shoulders,
somebody. Now his middle. Join hands under
him. All together, now; that's the way. Poor fel-
low! Poor fellow! His name isn't Clephane at
all. He's a Scotland Yard detective, down here for
these very villains!"
Raffles was the first to express surprise; but he
had also been the first to raise the wounded man.
Nor had any of them a stronger or more tender
hand in the slow procession to the house. In a little
we had the senseless man stretched on a sofa in the
library. And there, with ice on his wound and
brandy in his throat, his eyes opened and his lips
moved.
Lord Amersteth bent down to catch the words.
"Yes, yes," said he; " we've got one of them safe
and sound. The brute you collared upstairs."
Lord Amersteth bent lower. "By Jove! Lowered
the jewel-case out of the window, did he? And
they've got clean away with it! Well, well! I only
hope we'll be able to pull this good fellow through.
He's off again."
An hour passed: the sun was rising.


164 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
confess, however, that the professors' methods wei e
full of interest to me. I, for one, have probably
gained as much in experience as I have lost in other
things. That lowering the jewel-case out of the
window was a very simple and effective expedient;
two of them had been waiting below for it for hours."
"How do you know?" I asked.
"I saw them from my own window, which was
just above the dear old lady's. I was fretting for
that necklace in particular, when I went up to turn
in for our last night — and I happened to look out
of my window. In point of fact, I wanted to see
whether the one below was open, and whether there
was the slightest chance of working the oracle with
my sheet for a rope. Of course I took the precau-
tion of turning my light off first, and it was a lucky
thing I did. I saw the pros, right down below, and
they never saw me. I saw a little tiny luminous disk
just for an instant, and then again for an instant a
few minutes later. Of course I knew what it was,
for I have my own watch-dial daubed with luminous
paint; it makes a lantern of sorts when you can get
no better. But these fellows were not using theirs
as a lantern. They were under the old lady's win-
dow. They were watching the time. The whole
thing was arranged with their accomplice inside. Set
a thief to catch a thief: in a minute I had guessed
what the whole thing proved to be."
"And you did nothing!" I exclaimed.
"On the contrary, I went downstairs and straight
into Lady Melrose's room"


GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS 165
"You did?"
"Without a moment's hesitation. To save her
jewels. And I was prepared to yell as much into
her ear-trumpet for all the house to hear. But the
dear lady is too deaf and too fond of her dinner to
wake easily."
"Well?"
"She didn't stir."
"And yet you allowed the professors, as you call
them, to take her jewels, case and all!"
"All but this," said Raffles, thrusting his fist into
my lap. "I would have shown it you before, but
really, old fellow, your face all day has been worth
a fortune to the firm!"
And he opened his fist, to shut it next instant on
the bunch of diamonds and of sapphires that I had
last seen encircling the neck of Lady Melrose.





THE BLACK HAND
By Arthur B. Reeve
Kennedy and I had been dining rather late one
evening at Luigi's, a little Italian restaurant on the
lower West Side. We had known the place well in
our student days, and had made a point of visiting
it once a month since, in order to keep in practice
in the fine art of gracefully handling long shreds
of spaghetti. Therefore we did not think it strange
when the proprietor himself stopped a moment at
our table to greet us. Glancing furtively around at
the other diners, mostly Italians, he suddenly leaned
over and whispered to Kennedy:
"I have heard of your wonderful detective work,
Professor. Could you give a little advice in the
case of a friend of mine?"
"Surely, Luigi. What is the case? " asked Craig,
leaning back in his chair.
Luigi glanced around again apprehensively and
lowered his voice. "Not so loud, sir. When you
pay your check, go out, walk around Washington
Square, and come in at the private entrance. I'll
be waiting in the hall. My friend is dining privately
upstairs."
From "The Silent Bullet: The Adventures of Craig Kennedy,
Scientific Detective," Copyright, 1910, by Harper & Brothers.
167


168 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
We lingered a while over our chianti, then quietly
paid the check and departed.
True to his word, Luigi was waiting for us in the
dark hall. With a motion that indicated silence, he
led us up the stairs to the second floor, and quickly
opened a door into what seemed to be a fair-sized
private dining-room. A man was pacing the floor
nervously. On a table was some food, untouched.
As the door opened I thought he started as if in
fear, and I am sure his dark face blanched, if only
for an instant. Imagine our surprise at seeing
Gennaro, the great tenor, with whom merely to have
a speaking acquaintance was to argue oneself famous.
"Oh, it is you, Luigi," he exclaimed in perfect
English, rich and mellow. "And who are these
gentlemen?"
Luigi merely replied, " Friends," in English also,
and then dropped off into a voluble, low-toned ex-
planation in Italian.
I could see, as we waited, that the same idea had
flashed over Kennedy's mind as over my own. It
was now three or four days since the papers had
reported the strange kidnaping of Gennaro's five-
year-old daughter Adelina, his only child, and the
sending of a demand for ten thousand dollars ran-
som, signed, as usual, with the mystic Black Hand
— a name to conjure with in blackmail and extor-
tion.
As Signor Gennaro advanced toward us, after his
short talk with Luigi, almost before the introduc-
tions were over, Kennedy anticipated him by say-


THE BLACK HAND 169
ing: " I understand, Signor, before you ask me. I
have read all about it in the papers. You want
some one to help you catch the criminals who are
holding your little girl."
"No, no! " exclaimed Gennaro excitedly. "Not
that. I want to get my daughter first. After that,
catch them if you can — yes, I should like to have
some one do it. But read this first and tell me what
you think of it. How should I act to get my little
Adelina back without harming a hair of her head?"
The famous singer drew from a capacious pocketbook
a dirty, crumpled letter, scrawled on cheap paper.
Kennedy translated it quickly. It read:
Honorable sir: Your daughter is in safe hands. But, by
the saints, if you give this letter to the police as you did
the other, not only she but your family also, some one near
to you, will suffer. We will not fail as we did Wednesday.
If you want your daughter back, go yourself, alone and
without telling a soul, to Enrico Albano's Saturday night
at the twelfth hour. You must provide yourself with
$10,000 in bills hidden in Saturday's // Progresso Italiano.
In the back room you will see a man sitting alone at a table.
He will have a red flower on his coat. You are to say, "A
fine opera is ' I Pagliacci.'" If he answers, " Not without
Gennaro," lay the newspaper down on the table. He will
pick it up, leaving his own, the Bolletino. On the third
page you will find written the place where your daughter
has been left waiting for you. Go immediately and get her.
But, by the God, if you have so much as the shadow of the
police near Enrico's your daughter will be sent to you in a
box that night. Do not fear to come. We pledge our


170 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
word to deal fairly if you deal fairly. This is a last warn-
ing. Lest you shall forget we will show one other sign of
our power to-morrow.
La Mano Nera.
The end of this ominous letter was gruesomely
decorated with a skull and cross-bones, a rough
drawing of a dagger thrust through a bleeding heart,
a coffin, and, under all, a huge black hand. There
was no doubt about the type of letter that it was.
It was such as have of late years become increas-
ingly common in all our large cities, baffling the best
detectives.
"You have not showed this to the police, I pre-
sume?" asked Kennedy.
"Naturally not."
"Are you going Saturday night?"
"I am afraid to go and afraid to stay away,"
was the reply, and the voice of the fifty-thousand-
dollars-a-season tenor was as human as that of a
five-dollar-a-week father, for at bottom all men, high
or low, are one.
"' We will not fail as we did Wednesday,' " re-
read Craig. "What does that mean?"
Gennaro fumbled in his pocketbook again, and at
last drew forth a typewritten letter bearing the letter-
head of the Leslie Laboratories, Incorporated.
"After I received the first threat," explained
Gennaro, " my wife and I went from our apartments
at the hotel to her father's, the banker Cesare, you
know, who lives on Fifth Avenue. I gave the letter
to the Italian Squad of the police. The next morn-


THE BLACK HAND 171
ing my father-in-law's butler noticed something
peculiar about the milk. He barely touched some
of it to his tongue, and he has been violently ill
ever since. I at once sent the milk to the laboratory
of my friend Doctor Leslie to have it analyzed.
This letter shows what the household escaped."
"My dear Gennaro," read Kennedy. "The milk sub-
mitted to us for examination on the ioth inst. has been
carefully analyzed, and I beg to hand you herewith the
result:
"Specific gravity 1.036 at 15 degrees Cent.
Water 84.60 per cent.
Casein 3.49""
Albumin 56""
Globulin 1.32""
Lactose 508""
Ash 72""
Fat 342""
Ricin 1.19""
"Ricin is a new and little-known poison derived from the
shell of the castor-oil bean. Professor Ehrlich states that
one gram of the pure poison will kill 1,500,000 guinea pigs.
Ricin was lately isolated by Professor Robert, of Rostock,
but is seldom found except in an impure state, though still
very deadly. It surpasses strychnine, prussic acid, and other
commonly known drugs. I congratulate you and yours on
escaping and shall of course respect your wishes absolutely
regarding keeping secret this attempt on your life. Believe
me,
"Very sincerely yours,
"C. W. Leslie."


172 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
As Kennedy handed the letter back, he remarked
significantly: "I can see very readily why you
don't care to have the police force figure in your
case. It has got quite beyond ordinary police
methods."
"And to-morrow, too, they are going to give an-
other sign of their power," groaned Gennaro, sink-
ing into the chair before his untasted food.
"You say you have left your hotel?" inquired
Kennedy.
"Yes. My wife insisted that we would be more
safely guarded at the residence of her father, the
banker. But we are afraid even there since the
poison attempt. So I have come here secretly to
Luigi, my old friend Luigi, who is preparing food
for us, and in a few minutes one of the Cesare's auto-
mobiles will be here, and I will take the food up
to her — sparing no expense or trouble. She is
heart-broken. It will kill her, Professor Kennedy,
if anything happens to our little Adelina.
"Ah, sir, I am not poor myself. A month's
salary at the opera-house, that is what they ask of
me. Gladly would I give it, ten thousand dollars —
all, if they asked it, of my contract with Herr
Schleppencour, the director. But the police — bah!
— they are all for catching the villains. What good
will it do me if they do catch them and my little
Adelina is returned to me dead? It is all very well
for the Anglo-Saxon to talk of justice and the
law, but I am — what you call it?—an emotional
Latin. I want my little daughter — and at any cost.


THE BLACK HAND 173
Catch the villains afterward — yes., I will pay
double then to catch them so that they cannot black-
mail me again. Only first I want my daughter
back."
"And your father-in-law?"
"My father-in-law, he has been among you long
enough to be one of you. He has fought them.
He has put up a sign in his banking-house, 'No
money paid on threats.' But I say it is foolish.
I do not know America as well as he, but I know
this: the police never succeed — the ransom is paid
without their knowledge, and they very often take
the credit. I say, pay first, then I will swear a
righteous vendetta — I will bring the dogs to justice
with the money yet on them. Only show me how,
show me how."
"First of all," replied Kennedy, " I want you to
answer one question, truthfully, without reservation,
as to a friend. I am your friend, believe me. Is
there any person, a relative or acquaintance of your-
self or your wife or your father-in-law, whom you
even have reason to suspect of being capable of
extorting money from you in this way? I needn't
say that that is the experience of the district at-
torney's office in the large majority of cases of this
so-called Black Hand."
"No," replied the tenor without hesitation. "I
know that, and I have thought about it. No, I can
think of no one. I know you Americans often speak
of the Black Hand as a myth coined originally by
a newspaper writer. Perhaps it has no organiza-


174 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
tion. But, Professor Kennedy, to me it is no myth.
What if the real Black Hand is any gang of crim-
inals who choose to use that convenient name to
extort money? Is it the less real? My daughter
is gone!"
"Exactly," agreed Kennedy. "It is not a the-
ory that confronts you. It is a hard, cold fact. I
understand that perfectly. What is the address of
this Albano's?"
Luigi mentioned a number on Mulberry Street,
and Kennedy made a note of it.
"It is a gambling saloon," explained Luigi.
"Albano is a Neapolitan, a Camorrista, one of my
countrymen of whom I am thoroughly ashamed, Pro-
fessor Kennedy."
"Do you think this Albano had anything to do
with the letter?"
Luigi shrugged his shoulders.
Just then a big limousine was heard outside.
Luigi picked up a huge hamper that was placed in
a corner of the room and, followed closely by Signor
Gennaro, hurried down to it. As the tenor left us
he grasped our hands in each of his.
"I have an idea in my mind," said Craig simply.
"I will try to think it out in detail to-night. Where
can I find you to-morrow?"
"Come to me at the opera-house in the after-
noon, or if you want me sooner at Mr. Cesare's
residence. Good night, and a thousand thanks to
you, Professor Kennedy, and to you, also, Mr.
Jameson. I trust you absolutely because Luigi
trusts you."


THE BLACK HAND 175
We sat in the little dining-room until we heard
the door of the limousine bang shut and the car
shoot off with the rattle of the changing gears.
"One more question, Luigi," said Craig as the
door opened again. "I have never been on that
block in Mulberry Street where this Albano's is.
Do you happen to know any of the shopkeepers on
it or near it?"
"I have a cousin who has a drug-store on the
corner below Albano's, on the same side of the
street."
"Good! Do you think he would let me use his
store for a few minutes Saturday night — of course
without any risk to himself?"
"I think I could arrange it."
"Very well. Then to-morrow, say at nine in the
morning, I will stop here, and we will all go over to
see him. Good night, Luigi, and many thanks for
thinking of me in connection with this case. I've
enjoyed Signor Gennaro's singing often enough at
the opera to want to render him this service, and
I'm only too glad to be able to be of service to all
honest Italians; that is, if I succeed in carrying out
a plan I have in mind."
A little before nine the following day Kennedy
and I dropped into Luigi's again. Kennedy was
carrying a suit-case which he had taken over from
his laboratory to our rooms the night before.
Luigi was waiting for us, and without losing a minute
we sallied forth.
By means of the tortuous twists of streets in old
i


THE BLACK HAND 177
"No," I admitted. "They destroy more prop-
erty than lives. But did they get any one this time?
This must have been a thoroughly overloaded bomb,
I should judge by the looks of things."
"Came pretty close to it. The bank hadn't any
more than opened when, bang! went this gas-pipe-
and-dynamite thing. Crowd collected before the
smoke had fairly cleared. Man who owns the bank
was hurt, but not badly. Now come, beat it down
to headquarters if you want to find out any more.
You'll find it printed on the pink slips — the ' squeal
book '— by this time. 'Gainst the rules for me to
talk," he added with a good-natured grin, then to
the crowd: "G'wan, now. You're blockin' traffic.
Keep movin'."
I turned to Craig and Luigi. Their eyes were
riveted on the big gilt sign, half broken, and all
askew overhead. It read:
CIRO DI CESARE & CO., BANKERS
NEW YORK, GENOA, NAPLES, ROME,
PALERMO
"This is the reminder so that Gennaro and his
father-in-law will not forget," I gasped.
"Yes," added Craig, pulling us away, "and
Cesare himself is wounded, too. Perhaps that
was for putting up the notice refusing to pay. Per-
haps not. It's a queer case — they usually set the
bombs off at night when no one is around. There
must be more back of this than merely to scare
Gennaro. It looks to me as if they were after


178 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
Cesare, too, first by poison, then by dynamite."
We shouldered our way out through the crowd
and went on until we came to Mulberry Street,
pulsing with life. Down we went past the little
shops, dodging the children, and making way for
women with huge bundles of sweat-shop clothing ac-
curately balanced on their heads or hugged up under
their capacious capes. Here was just one little
colony of the hundreds of thousands of Italians — a
population larger than the Italian population of
Rome — of whose life the rest of New York knew
and cared nothing.
At last we came to Albano's little wine-shop, a
dark, evil, malodorous place on the street level of
a five-story, alleged "new-law" tenement. With-
out hesitation Kennedy entered, and we followed,
acting the part of a slumming party. There were
a few customers at this early hour, men out of em-
ployment and an inoffensive-looking lot, though of
course they eyed us sharply. Albano himself proved
to be a greasy, low-browed fellow who had a sort
of cunning look. I could well imagine such a fellow
spreading terror in the hearts of simple folk by
merely pressing both temples with his thumbs and
drawing his long bony fore-finger under his throat
— the so-called Black Hand sign that has shut up
many a witness in the middle of his testimony even
in open court.
We pushed through to the low-ceilinged back
room, which was empty, and sat down at a table.
Over a bottle of Albano's famous California "red-


THE BLACK HAND 179
ink " we sat silently. Kennedy was making a mental
note of the place. In the middle of the ceiling was
a single gas-burner with a big reflector over it. In
the back wall of the room was a horizontal oblong
window, barred, and with a sash that opened like a
transom. The tables were dirty and the chairs
rickety. The walls were bare and unfinished, with
beams innocent of decoration. Altogether it was
as unprepossessing a place as I had ever seen.
Apparently satisfied with his scrutiny, Kennedy
got up to go, complimenting the proprietor on his
wine. I could see that Kennedy had made up his
mind as to his course of action.
"How sordid crime really is," he remarked as
we walked on down the street. "Look at that
place of Albano's. I defy even the police news re-
porter on the Star to find any glamour in that."
Our next stop was at the corner at the little store
kept by the cousin of Luigi, who conducted us back
of the partition where prescriptions were com-
pounded, and found us chairs.
A hurried explanation from Luigi brought a cloud
to the open face of the druggist, as if he hesitated
to lay himself and his little fortune open to the
blackmailers. Kennedy saw it and interrupted.
"All that I wish to do," he said, " is to put in a
little instrument here and use it to-night for a few
minutes. Indeed, there will be no risk to you,
Vincenzo. Secrecy is what I desire, and no one will
ever know about it."
Vincenzo was at length convinced, and Craig


180 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
opened his suit-case. There was little in it except
several coils of insulated wire, some tools, a couple
of packages wrapped up, and a couple of pairs of
overalls. In a moment Kennedy had donned over-
alls and was smearing dirt and grease over his face
and hands. Under his direction I did the same.
Taking the bag of tools, the wire, and one of
the small packages, we went out on the street and
then up through the dark and ill-ventilated hall of
the tenement. Half-way up a woman stopped us
suspiciously.
"Telephone company," said Craig curtly.
"Here's permission from the owner of the house
to string wires across the roof."
He pulled an old letter out of his pocket, but
as it was too dark to read even if the woman had
cared to do so, we went on up as he had expected,
unmolested. At last we came to the roof, where
there were some children at play a couple of houses
down from us.
Kennedy began by dropping two strands of wire
down to the ground in the back yard behind
Vincenzo's shop. Then he proceeded to lay two
wires along the edge of the roof.
We had worked only a little while when the
children began to collect. However, Kennedy kept
right on until we reached the tenement next to that
in which Albano's shop was.
"Walter," he whispered, "just get the children
away for a minute now."
"Look here, you kids," I yelled, "some of you


THE BLACK HAND 183
I sat and smoked and sipped slowly for several min-
utes, cursing him inwardly more for his presence
than for his evident look of the "mala vita." At
last he went out to ask the barkeeper for a stamp.
Quickly I tiptoed over to another corner of the
room and ground the little bottle under my heel.
Then I resumed my seat. The odor that pervaded
the room was sickening.
The sinister-looking man with the scar came in
again and sniffed. I sniffed. Then the proprietor
came in and sniffed.
"Say," I said in the toughest voice I could as-
sume, " you got a leak. Wait. I seen the gas com-
pany wagon on the next block when I came in. I'll
get the man."
I dashed out and hurried up the street to the
place where Kennedy was waiting impatiently.
Rattling his tools, he followed me with apparent
reluctance.
As he entered the wine-shop he snorted, after
the manner of gas-men, "Where's de leak?"
"You find-a da leak," grunted Albano. "What-a
you get-a you pay for? You want-a me do your
work?"
"Well, half a dozen o' you wops get out o' here,
that's all. D'youse all wanter be blown ter pieces
wid dem pipes and cigarettes? Clear out," growled
Kennedy.
They retreated precipitately, and Craig hastily
opened his bag of tools.
"Quick, Walter, shut the door and hold it," ex-


184 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
claimed Craig, working rapidly. He unwrapped a
little package and took out a round, flat disk-like
thing of black vulcanized rubber. Jumping up on
a table, he fixed it to the top of the reflector over
the gas-jet.
"Can you see that from the floor, Walter?" he
asked under his breath.
"No," I replied, "not even when I know it is
there."
Then he attached a couple of wires to it and
led them across the ceiling toward the window, con-
cealing them carefully by sticking them in the shadow
of a beam. At the window he quickly attached the
wires to the two that were dangling down from the
roof and shoved them around out of sight.
"We'll have to trust that no one sees them,"
he said. "That's the best I can do at such short
notice. I never saw a room so bare as this, any-
way. There isn't another place I could put that
thing without its being seen."
We gathered up the broken glass of the gas-drip-
pings bottle, and I opened the door.
"It's all right, now," said Craig, sauntering out
before the bar. "Only de next time you has any-
t'ing de matter call de company up. I ain't sup-
posed to do dis wit'out orders, see?"
A moment later I followed, glad to get out of
the oppressive atmosphere, and joined him in the
back of Vlncenzo's drug-store, where he was again at
work. As there was no back window there, it was
quite a job to lead the wires around the outside from


THE BLACK HAND 185
the back yard and in at a side window. It was at
last done, however, without exciting suspicion, and
Kennedy attached them to an oblong box of weath-
ered oak and a pair of specially constructed dry
batteries.
"Now," said Craig, as we washed off the stains
of work and stowed the overalls back in the suit-
case, "that is done to my satisfaction. I can tell
Gennaro to go ahead safely now and meet the
Black-Handers."
From Vincenzo's we walked over toward Centre
Street, where Kennedy and I left Luigi to return
to his restaurant, with instructions to be at Vin-
cenzo's at half-past eleven that night.
We turned into the new police headquarters and
down the long corridor to the Italian Bureau.
Kennedy sent in his card to Lieutenant Giuseppe in
charge, and we were quickly admitted. The lieuten-
ant was a short, full-faced, fleshy Italian, with light-
ish hair and eyes that were apparently dull, until
you suddenly discovered that that was merely a
cover to their really restless way of taking in every-
thing and fixing the impressions on his mind, as if
on a sensitive plate.
"I want to talk about the Gennaro case," began
Craig. "I may add that I have been rather closely
associated with Inspector O'Connor of the Central
Office on a number of cases, so that I think we can
trust each other. Would you mind telling me what
you know about it if I promise you that I, too, have
something to reveal?"


186 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
The lieutenant leaned back and watched Kennedy
closely without seeming to do so. "When I was
in Italy last year," he replied at length, "I did a
good deal of work in tracing up some Camorra sus-
pects. I had a tip about some of them to look up
their records—I needn't say where it came from,
but it was a good one. Much of the evidence
against some of those fellows who are being tried
at Viterbo was gathered by the Carabinieri as a result
of hints that I was able to give them — clues that
were furnished to me here in America from the
source I speak of. I suppose there is really no need
to conceal it, though. The original tip came from
a certain banker here in New York."
"I can guess who it was," nodded Craig.
"Then, as you know, this banker is a fighter.
He is the man who organized the White Hand —
an organization which is trying to rid the Italian
population of the Black Hand. His society had a
lot of evidence regarding former members of both
the Camorra in Naples and the Mafia in Sicily, as
well as the Black Hand gangs in New York, Chicago,
and other cities. Well, Cesare, as you know, is Gen-
naro's father-in-law.
"While I was in Naples looking up the record
of a certain criminal I heard of. a peculiar murder
committed some years ago. There was an honest
old music master who apparently lived the quiet-
est and most harmless of lives. But it became
known that he was supported by Cesare and had
received handsome presents of money from him.


188 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
At any rate Paoli disappeared right after I returned
from Italy, and we haven't been able to locate him
since. He must have found out in some way that
the tip to look him up had been given by the White
Hand. He had been a Camorrista, in Italy, and
had many ways of getting information here in
America."
He paused, and balanced a piece of cardboard
in his hand.
"It is my theory of this case that if we could
locate this Paoli we could solve the kidnaping of
little Adelina Gennaro very quickly. That's his
picture."
Kennedy and I bent over to look at it, and I
started in surprise. It was my evil-looking friend
with the scar on his cheek.
"Well," said Craig, quietly handing back the card,
"whether or not he is the man, I know where we
can catch the kidnapers to-night, Lieutenant."
It was Giuseppe's turn to show surprise now.
"With your assistance I'll get this man and the
whole gang to-night," explained Craig, rapidly
sketching over his plan and concealing just enough
to make sure that no matter how anxious the lieuten-
ant was to get the credit he could not spoil the affair
by premature interference.
The final arrangement was that four of the best
men of the squad were to hide in a vacant store
across from Vincenzo's early in the evening, long
before any one was watching. The signal for them
to appear was to be the extinguishing of the lights


THE BLACK HAND 189
behind the colored bottles in the druggist's window.
A taxicab was to be kept waiting at headquarters
at the same time with three other good men ready
to start for a given address the moment the alarm
was given over the telephone.
We found Gennaro awaiting us with the great-
est anxiety at the opera-house. The bomb at
Cesare's had been the last straw. Gennaro had al-
ready drawn from his bank ten crisp one-thousand-
dollar bills, and already had a copy of // Progresso
in which he had hidden the money between the
sheets.
"Mr. Kennedy," he said, "I am going to meet
them to-night. They may kill me. See, I have pro-
vided myself with a pistol — I shall fight, too, if nec-
essary for my little Adelina. But if it is only money
they want, they shall have it."
"One thing I want to say," began Kennedy.
"No, no, no! " cried the tenor. "I will go —
you shall not stop me."
"I don't wish to stop you," Craig reassured him.
"But one thing — do exactly as I tell you, and I
swear not a hair of the child's head will be injured
and we will get the blackmailers, too."
"How?" eagerly asked Gennaro. "What do
you want me to do?"
"All I want you to do is to go to Albano's at
the appointed time. Sit down in the back room.
Get into conversation with them, and, above all,
Signor, as soon as you get the copy of the Bolletino
turn to the third page, pretend not to be able to


THE BLACK HAND 191
Bleecker Street station of the subway at eleven-
thirty. I'm off to the university. I have some very
important experiments with phosphorescent salts
that I want to finish to-day."
"What has that to do with the case?" I asked
mystified.
"Nothing," replied Craig. "I didn't say it had.
At eleven-thirty, don't forget. By George, though,
that Paoli must be a clever one — think of his know-
ing about ricin. I only heard of it myself recently.
Well, here's my car. Good-bye."
Craig swung aboard an Amsterdam Avenue car,
leaving me to kill eight nervous hours of my weekly
day of rest from the Star.
They passed at length, and at precisely the ap-
pointed time Kennedy and I met. With suppressed
excitement, at least on my part, we walked over to
Vincenzo's. At night this section of the city was
indeed a black enigma. The lights in the shops
where olive oil, fruit, and other things were sold,
were winking out one by one; here and there strains
of music floated out of the wine-shops, and little
groups lingered on corners conversing in animated
sentences. We passed Albano's on the other side
of the street, being careful not to look at it too
closely, for several men were hanging idly about —
pickets, apparently, with some secret code that would
instantly have spread far and wide the news of any
alarming action.
At the corner we crossed and looked in Vincenzo's
window a moment, casting a furtive glance across


192 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
the street at the dark empty store where the police
must be hiding. Then we went in and casually
sauntered back of the partition. Luigi was there
already. There were several customers still in the
store, however, and therefore we had to sit in silence
while Vincenzo quickly finished a prescription and
waited on the last one.
At last the doors were locked and the lights
lowered, all except those in the windows which were
to serve as signals.
"Ten minutes to twelve," said Kennedy, placing
the oblong box on the table. "Gennafo will be
going in soon. Let us try this machine now and
see if it works. If the wires have been cut since
we put them up this morning Gennaro will have
to take his chances alone."
Kennedy reached over and with a light move-
ment of his forefinger touched a switch.
Instantly a babel of voices filled the store, all
talking at once, rapidly and loudly. Here and there
we could distinguish a snatch of conversation, a
word, a phrase, now and then even a whole sentence
above the rest. There was the clink of glasses.
I could hear the rattle of dice on a bare table, and
an oath. A cork popped. Somebody scratched a
match.
We sat bewildered, looking at Kennedy for an
explanation.
"Imagine that you are sitting at a table in
Albano's back room," was all he said. "This is
what you would be hearing. This is my 'electric


THE BLACK HAND 193
ear'— in other words the dictograph, used, I am
told, by the Secret Service of the United States.
Wait, in a moment you will hear Gennaro come
in. Luigi and Vincenzo, translate what you hear.
My knowledge of Italian is pretty rusty."
"Can they hear us? " whispered Luigi in an awe-
struck whisper.
Craig laughed. "No, not yet. But I have only
to touch this other switch, and I could produce an
effect in that room that would rival the famous
writing on Belshazzar's wall — only it would be a
voice from the wall instead of writing."
"They seem to be waiting for some one," said
Vincenzo. "I heard somebody say: 'He will be
here in a few minutes. Now get out.'"
The babel of voices seemed to calm down as men
withdrew from the room. Only one or two were
left.
"One of them says the child is all right. She
has been left in the back yard," translated Luigi.
"What yard? Did he say?" asked Kennedy.
"No; they just speak of it as the 'yard,'" re-
plied Luigi.
"Jameson, go outside in the store to the tele-
phone booth and call up headquarters. Ask them
if the automobile is ready, with the men in it."
I rang up, and after a moment the police central
answered that everything was right.
"Then tell central to hold the line clear — we
mustn't lose a moment. Jameson, you stay in the
booth. Vincenzo, you pretend to be working


194 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
around your window, but not in such a way as to
attract attention, for they have men watching the
street very carefully. What is it, Luigi?"
"Gennaro is coming. I just heard one of them
say, 'Here he comes.'"
Even from the booth I could hear the dicto-
graph repeating the conversation in the dingy little
back room of Albano's, down the street.
"He's ordering a bottle of red wine," murmured
Luigi, dancing up and down with excitement.
Vincenzo was so nervous that he knocked a bottle
down in the window, and I believe that my heart-
beats were almost audible over the telephone which
I was holding, for the police operator called me
down for asking so many times if all was ready.
"There it is — the signal," cried Craig. "' A
fine opera is "I Pagliacci."' Now listen for the
answer."
A moment elapsed, then, " Not without Gennaro,"
came a gruff voice in Italian from the dictograph.
A silence ensued. It was tense.
"Wait, wait," said a voice which I recognized
instantly as Gennaro's. "I cannot read this.
What is this, 23]/2 Prince Street?"
"No, 33^2. She has been left in the back yard,"
answered the voice.
"Jameson," called Craig, "tell them to drive
straight to 33 y2 Prince Street. They will find the
girl in the back yard — quick, before the Black-
Handers have a chance to go back on their word."
I fairly shouted my orders to the police head-


THE BLACK HAND 195
quarters. "They're off," came back the answer,
and I hung up the receiver.
"What was that?" Craig was asking of Luigi.
"I didn't catch it. What did they say?"
"That other voice said to Gennaro, 'Sit down
while I count this.'"
"Sh! he's talking again."
"If it is a penny less than ten thousand or I find
a mark on the bills I'll call to Enrico, and your
daughter will be spirited away again," translated
Luigi.
"Now, Gennaro is talking," said Craig. "Good
— he is gaining time. He is a trump. I can dis-
tinguish that all right. He's asking the gruff-
voiced fellow if he will have another bottle of wine.
He says he will. Good. They must be at Prince
Street now — we'll give them a few minutes more,
not too much, for word will be back to Albano's like
wildfire, and they will get Gennaro after all. Ah,
they are drinking again. What was that, Luigi?
The money is all right, he says? Now, Vincenzo,
out with the lights!"
A door banged open across the street, and four
huge dark figures darted out in the direction of
Albano's.
With his finger Kennedy pulled down the other
switch and shouted: "Gennaro, this is Kennedy!
To the street! Polizia! Polizia!"
A scuffle and a cry of surprise followed. A second
voice, apparently from the bar, shouted, "Out with
the lights, out with the lights!"


196 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
Bang! went a pistol, and another.
The dictograph, which had been all sound a mo-
ment before, was as mute as a cigar-box.
"What's the matter?" I asked Kennedy, as he
rushed past me.
"They have shot out the lights. My receiving
instrument is destroyed. Come on, Jameson;
Vincenzo, stay back, if you don't want to appear in
this."
A short figure rushed by me, faster even than I
could go. It was the faithful Luigi.
In front of Albano's an exciting fight was going
on. Shots were being fired wildly in the darkness,
and heads were popping out of tenement windows
on all sides. As Kennedy and I flung ourselves into
the crowd we caught a glimpse of Gennaro, with
blood streaming from a cut on his shoulder, strug-
gling with a policeman while Luigi vainly was try-
ing to interpose himself between them. A man,
held by another policeman, was urging the first officer
on. "That's the man," he was crying. "That's
the kidnapper. I caught him."
In a moment Kennedy was behind him. "Paoli,
you lie. You are the kidnapper. Seize him — he
has the money on him. That other is Gennaro
himself."
The policeman released the tenor, and both of
them seized Paoli. The others were beating at the
door, which was being frantically barricaded inside.
Just then a taxicab came swinging up the street.
Three men jumped out and added their strength to


THE BLACK HAND 197
those who were battering down Albano's barricade.
Gennaro, with a cry, leaped into the taxicab.
Over his shoulder I could see a tangled mass of dark
brown curls, and a childish voice lisped: "Why
didn't you come for me, papa? The bad man told
me if I waited in the yard you would come for me.
But if I cried he said he would shoot me. And I
waited, and waited —"
"There, there, 'Lina; papa's going to take you
straight home to mother."
A crash followed as the door yielded, and the
famous Paoli gang was in the hands of the law.





THE GROTTO SPECTRE
By Anna Katherine Green
Miss Strange was not often pensive — at least not
at large functions or when under the public eye. But
she certainly forgot herself at Mrs. Provost's mu-
sicale and that, too, without apparent reason. Had
the music been of a high order one might have under-
stood her abstraction; but it was of a decidedly medi-
ocre quality, and Violet's ear was much too fine and
her musical sense too cultivated for her to be be-
guiled by anything less than the very best.
Nor had she the excuse of a dull companion. Her
escort for the evening was a man of unusual con-
versational powers; but she seemed to be almost ob-
livious of his presence; and when, through some
passing courteous impulse, she did turn her ear his
way, it was with just that tinge of preoccupation
which betrays the divided mind.
Were her thoughts with some secret problem yet
unsolved? It would scarcely seem so from the gay
remark with which she had left home. She was
speaking to her brother and her words were: " I am
going out to enjoy myself. I've not a care in the
world. The slate is quite clean." Yet she had
From "The Golden Slipper, and Other Problems for Violet
Strange," Copyright, 1915, by Anna Katherine Rohlfs.
199


200 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
never seemed more out of tune with her surroundings
nor shown a mood further removed from trivial en-
tertainment. What had happened to becloud her
gaiety in the short time which had since elapsed?
We can answer in a sentence.
She had seen, among a group of young men in a
distant doorway, one with a face so individual and
of an expression so extraordinary that all interest in
the people about her had stopped as a clock stops
when the pendulum is held back. She could see
nothing else, think of nothing else. Not that it was
so very handsome — though no other had ever ap-
proached it in its power over her imagination — but
because of its expression of haunting melancholy,—
a melancholy so settled and so evidently the result of
long-continued sorrow that her interest had been
reached and her heart-strings shaken as never before
in her whole life.
She would never be the same Violet again.
Yet moved as she undoubtedly was, she was not
conscious of the least desire to know who the young
man was, or even to be made acquainted with his
story. She simply wanted to dream her dream un-
disturbed.
It was therefore with a sense of unwelcome shock
that, in the course of the reception following the pro-
gram, she perceived this same young man approach-
ing herself, with his right hand touching his left
shoulder in the peculiar way which committed her to
an interview with or without a formal introduction.
Should she fly the ordeal? Be blind and deaf to


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 201
whatever was significant in his action, and go her
way before he reached her; thus keeping her dream
intact? Impossible. His eye prevented that.
His glance had caught hers and she felt forced to
await his advance and give him her first spare mo-
ment.
It came soon, and when it came she greeted him
with a smile. It was the first she had ever bestowed
in welcome of a confidence of whose tenor she was
entirely ignorant.
To her relief he showed his appreciation of the
dazzling gift though he made no effort to return it.
Scorning all preliminaries in his eagerness to dis-
charge himself of a burden which was fast becoming
intolerable, he addressed her at once in these words:
"You are very good, Miss Strange, to receive me
in this unconventional fashion. I am in that des-
perate state of mind which precludes etiquette.
Will you listen to my petition? I am told — you
know by whom —" (and he again touched his shoul-
der) "that you have resources of intelligence which
especially fit you to meet the extraordinary difficulties
of my position. May I beg you to exercise them
in my behalf? No man would be more grateful if
— But I see that you do not recognize me. I am
Roger Upjohn. That I am admitted to this gather-
ing is owing to the fact that our hostess knew and
loved my mother. In my anxiety to meet you and
proffer my plea, I was willing to brave the cold
looks you have probably noticed on the faces of the
people about us. But I have no right to subject
you to criticism. I"


202 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"Remain." Violet's voice was troubled, her self-
possession disturbed; but there was a command in
her tone which he was only too glad to obey. "I
know the name" (who did not!) "and possibly my
duty to myself should make me shun a confidence
which may burden me without relieving you. But
you have been sent to me by one whose behests I feel
bound to respect and"
Mistrusting her voice, she stopped. The suffer-
ing which made itself apparent in the face before her
appealed to her heart in a way to rob her of her
judgment. She did not wish this to be seen, and so
fell silent.
He was quick to take advantage of her obvious
embarrassment. "Should I have been sent to you
if I had not first secured the confidence of the sender?
You know the scandal attached to my name, some
of it just, some of it very unjust. If you will grant
me an interview to-morrow, I will make an endeavor
to refute certain charges which I have hitherto let
go unchallenged. Will you do me this favor? Will
you listen in your own house to what I have to say?"
Instinct cried out against any such concession on
her part, bidding her beware of one who charmed
without excellence and convinced without reason.
But compassion urged compliance and compassion
won the day. Though conscious of weakness — she,
Violet Strange, on whom strong men had come to
rely in critical hours calling for well-balanced judg-
ment — she did not let this concern her, or allow
herself to indulge in useless regrets even after the


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 203
first effect of his presence had passed and she had
succeeded in recalling the facts which had cast a
cloud about his name.
Roger Upjohn was a widower, and the scandal af-
fecting him was connected with his wife's death.
Though a degenerate in some respects, lacking the
domineering presence, the strong mental qualities,
and inflexible character of his progenitors, the
wealthy Massachusetts Upjohns whose great place
on the coast had a history as old as the State itself,
he yet had gifts and attractions of his own which
would have made him a worthy representative of his
race, if only he had not fixed his affections on a
woman so cold and heedless that she would have in-
spired universal aversion instead of love, had she not
been dowered with the beauty and physical fascina-
tion which sometimes accompany a hard heart and a
scheming brain. It was this beauty which had
caught the lad; and one day, just as the careful father
had mapped out a course of study calculated to make
a man of his son, that son drove up to the gates with
this lady whom he introduced as his wife.
The shock, not of her beauty, though that was of
the dazzling quality which catches a man in the
throat and makes a slave of him while the first sur-
prise lasts, but of the overthrow of all his hopes and
plans, nearly prostrated Homer Upjohn. He saw,
as most men did the moment judgment returned, that
for all her satin skin and rosy flush, the wonder of
her hair and the smile which pierced like arrows and
warmed like wine, she was more likely to bring a
curse into the house than a blessing.


204 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
And so it proved. In less than a year the young
husband had lost all his ambitions and many of his
best impulses. No longer inclined to study, he spent
his days in satisfying his wife's whims and his even-
ings in carousing with the friends with which she had
provided him. This in Boston whither they had fled
from the old gentleman's displeasure; but after their
little son came the father insisted upon their return-
ing home, which led to great deceptions, and precipi-
tated a tragedy no one ever understood. They were
natural gamblers — this couple — as all Boston
society knew; and as Homer Upjohn loathed cards,
they found life slow in the great house and grew
correspondingly restless till they made a discovery
— or shall I say a rediscovery — of the once famous
grotto hidden in the rocks lining their portion of the
coast. Here they found a retreat where they could
hide themselves (often when they were thought to be
abed and asleep) and play together for money or for
a supper in the city or for anything else that foolish
fancy suggested. This was while their little son re-
mained an infant; later, they were less easily satisfied.
Both craved company, excitement, and gambling on a
large scale; so they took to inviting friends to meet
them in this grotto which, through the agency of one
old servant devoted to Roger to the point of folly,
had been fitted up and lighted in a manner not only
comfortable but luxurious. A small but sheltered
haven hidden in the curve of the rocks made an ap-
proach by boat feasible at high tide; and at low the
connection could be made by means of a path over


THE CrROTTO SPECTRE 205
the promontory in which this grotto lay concealed.
The fortune which Roger had inherited from his
mother made these excesses possible, but many thou-
sands, let alone the few he could call his, soon disap-
peared under the witchery of an irresponsible woman,
and the half-dozen friends who knew his secret had
to stand by and see his ruin, without daring to utter
a word to the one who alone could stay it. For
Homer Upjohn was not a man to be approached
lightly, nor was he one to listen to charges without
ocular proof to support them; and this called for
courage, more courage than was possessed by any
one who knew them both.
He was a hard man was Homer Upjohn, but
with a heart of gold for those he loved. This, even
his wary daughter-in-law was wise enough to detect,
and for a long while after the birth of her child she
besieged him with her coaxing ways and bewitching
graces. But he never changed his first opinion of
her, and once she became fully convinced of the folly
of her efforts, she gave up all attempt to please him
and showed an open indifference. This in time grad-
ually extended till it embraced not only her child but
her husband as well. Yes, it had come to that. His
love no longer contented her. Her vanity had
grown by what it daily fed on, and now called for
the admiration of the fast men who sometimes came
up from Boston to play with them in their unholy re-
treat. To win this, she dressed like some demon
queen or witch, though it drove her husband into
deeper play and threatened an exposure which would


206 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
mean disaster not only to herself but to the whole
family.
In all this, as any one could see, Roger had been
her slave and the willing victim of all her caprices.
What was it, then, which so completely changed him
that a separation began to be talked of and even its
terms discussed? One rumor had it that the father
had discovered the secret of the grotto and exacted
this as a penalty from the son who had dishonored
him. Another, that Roger himself was the one to
take the initiative in this matter. That, on return-
ing unexpectedly from New York one evening and
finding her missing from the house, he had traced
her to the grotto where he came upon her playing
a desperate game with the one man he had the
greatest reason to distrust.
But whatever the explanation of this sudden
change in their relations, there is but little doubt that
a legal separation between this ill-assorted couple
was pending, when one bleak autumn morning she
was discovered dead in her bed under circumstances
peculiarly open to comment.
The physicians who made out the certificate
ascribed her death to heart-disease, symptoms of
which had lately much alarmed the family doctor;
but that a personal struggle of some kind had pre-
ceded the fatal attack was evident from the bruises
which blackened her wrists. Had there been the
like upon her throat it might have gone hard with
the young husband who was known to be contemplat-
ing her dismissal from the house. But the discolora-


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 207
tion of her wrists was all, and as bruised wrists do
not kill and there was besides no evidence forth-
coming of the two having spent one moment together
for at least ten hours preceding the tragedy but
rather full and satisfactory testimony to the contrary,
the matter lapsed and all criminal proceedings were
avoided.
But not the scandal which always follows the un-
explained. As time passed and the peculiar look
which betrays the haunted soul gradually became
visible in the young widower's eyes, doubts arose and
reports circulated which cast strange reflections upon
the tragic end of his mistaken marriage. Stories of
the disreputable use to which the old grotto had been
put were mingled with vague hints of conjugal
violence never properly investigated. The result
was his general avoidance not only by the social set
dominated by his high-minded father, but by his own
less reputable coterie, which, however lax in its moral
code, had very little use for a coward.
Such was the gossip which had reached Violet's
ears in connection with this new client, prejudicing
her altogether against him till she caught that beam
of deep and concentrated suffering in his eye and
recognized an innocence which ensured her sympathy
and led her to grant him the interview for which he
so earnestly entreated.
He came prompt to the hour, and when she saw
him again with the marks of a sleepless night upon
him and all the signs of suffering intensified in his
unusual countenance, she felt her heart sink within


208 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
her in a way she failed to understand. A dread of
what she was about to hear robbed her of all sem-
blance of self-possession, and she stood like one in
a dream as he uttered his first greetings and then
paused to gather up his own moral strength before
he began his story. When he did speak it was to
say:
"I find myself obliged to break a vow I have made
to myself. You cannot understand my need unless
I show you my heart. My trouble is not the one
with which men have credited me. It has another
source and is infinitely harder to bear. Personal
dishonor I have deserved in a greater or less degree,
but the trial which has come to me now involves a
person more dear to me than myself, and is totally
without alleviation unless you —" He paused,
choked, then recommenced abruptly: "My wife"
— Violet held her breath —" was supposed to have
died from heart-disease or — or some strange species
of suicide. There were reasons for this conclusion
— reasons which I accepted without serious question
till some five weeks ago when I made a discovery
which led me to fear"
The broken sentence hung suspended. Violet,
notwithstanding his hurried gesture, could not re-
strain herself stealing a look at his face. It was set
in horror and, though partially turned aside, made an
appeal to her compassion to fill the void made by his
silence, without further suggestion from him.
She did this by saying tentatively and with as little
show of emotion as possible:


210 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
presence in the house meant to his old age, I felt my
heart turn sick with apprehension, when in the midst
of the discussion as to the terms on which my wife
would consent to a permanent separation, the little
fellow came dancing into the room, his curls atoss
and his whole face beaming with life and joy.
"She had not mentioned the child, but I knew her
well enough to be sure that at the first show of pref-
erence on his part for either his grandfather or
myself, she would raise a claim to him which she
would never relinquish. I dared not speak, but I
met his eager looks with my most forbidding frown
and hoped by this show of severity to hold him back.
But his little heart was full and, ignoring her out-
stretched arms, he bounded towards mine with his
most affectionate cry. She saw and uttered her ulti-
matum. The child should go with her or she would
not consent to a separation. It was useless for us
to talk; she had said her last word. The blow
struck me hard, or so I thought, till I looked at my
father. Never had I beheld such a change as that
one moment had made in him. He stood as be-
fore; he faced us with the same silent reprobation;
but his heart had run from him like water.
"It was a sight to call up all my resources. To
allow her to remain now, with my feelings towards
her all changed and my father's eyes fully opened to
her stony nature, was impossible. Nor could I ap-
peal to law. An open scandal was my father's
greatest dread and divorce proceedings his horror.
The child would have to go unless I could find a way


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 211
to influence her through her own nature. I knew
of but one — do not look at me, Miss Strange. It
was dishonoring to us both, and I am horrified now
when I think of it. But to me at that time it was
natural enough as a last resort. There was but one
debt which my wife ever paid, but one promise she
ever kept. It was that made at the gaming-table.
I offered, as soon as my father, realizing the hope-
lessness of the situation, had gone tottering from
the room, to gamble with her for the child.
"And she accepted."
The shame and humiliation expressed in this final
whisper; the sudden darkness — for a storm was
coming up — shook Violet to the soul. With
strained gaze fixed on the man before her, now little
more than a shadow in the prevailing gloom, she
waited for him to resume, and waited in vain. The
minutes passed, the darkness became intolerable, and
instinctively her hand crept towards the electric but-
ton beneath which she was sitting. But she failed
to press it. A tale so dark called for an atmos-
phere of its own kind. She would cast no light upon
it. Yet she shivered as the silence continued, and
started in uncontrollable dismay when at length her
strange visitor rose, and still, without speaking,
walked away from her to the other end of the room.
Only so could he go on with the shameful tale; and
presently she heard his voice once more in these
words:
"Our house is large and its rooms many; but for
such work as we two contemplated there was but one


212 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
spot where we could command absolute seclusion.
You may have heard of it, a famous natural grotto
hidden in our own portion of the coast and so fitted
up as to form a retreat for our miserable selves
when escape from my father's eye seemed desirable.
It was not easy of access, and no one, so far as we
knew, had ever followed us there. But to ensure
ourselves against any possible interruption, we waited
till the whole house was abed before we left it for
the grotto. We went by boat and oh! the dip of
those oars! I hear them yet. And the witchery of
her face in the moonlight; and the mockery of her
low fitful laugh! As I caught the sinister note in its
silvery rise and fall, I knew what was before me if
I failed to retain my composure. And I strove to
hold it and to meet her calmness with stoicism and
the taunt of her expression with a mask of immobil-
ity. But the effort was hopeless, and when the time
came for dealing out the cards, my eyes were burn-
ing in their sockets and my hands shivering like
leaves in a rising gale.
"We played one game — and my wife lost. We
played another — and my wife won. We played
the third — and the fate I had foreseen from the first
became mine. The luck was with her, and I had
lost my boy!"
A gasp — a pause, during which the thunder spoke
and the lightning flashed — then a hurried catching
of his breath and the tale went on.
"A burst of laughter, rising gaily above the boom
of the sea, announced her victory — her laugh and


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 213
the taunting words: ' You play badly, Roger. The
child is mine. Never fear that I shall fail to teach
him to revere his father.' Had I a word to throw
back? No. When I realized anything but my dis-
honored manhood, I found myself in the grotto's
mouth staring helplessly out upon the sea. The
boat which had floated us in at high tide lay stranded
but a few feet away, but I did not reach for it.
Escape was quicker over the rocks, and I made for
the rocks.
"That it was a cowardly act to leave her there to
find her way back alone at midnight by the same
rough road I was taking, did not strike my mind for
an instant. I was in flight from my own past; in
flight from myself and the haunting dread of mad-
ness. When I awoke to reality again it was to find
the small door, by which we had left the house, stand-
ing slightly ajar. I was troubled by this, for I was
sure of having closed it. But the impression was
brief, and entering, I went stumbling up to my room,
leaving the way open behind me more from sheer
inability to exercise my will than from any thought
of her.
"Miss Strange" (he had come out of the shadows
and was standing now directly before her), " I must
ask you to trust implicitly in what I tell you of my
further experiences that fatal night. It was not
necessary for me to pass my little son's door in
order to reach the room I was making for; but
anguish took me there and held me glued to the
panels for what seemed a long, long time. When


214 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
I finally crept away it was to go to the room I had
chosen in the top of the house, where I had my hour
of hell and faced my desolated future. Did I hear
anything meantime in the halls below? No. Did
I even listen for the sound of her return? No. I
was callous to everything, dead to everything but my
own misery. I did not even heed the approach of
morning, till suddenly, with a shrillness no ear could
ignore, there rose, tearing through the silence of the
house, that great scream from my wife's room which
announced the discovery of her body lying stark and
cold in her bed.
"They said I showed little feeling." He had
moved off again and spoke from somewhere in the
shadows. "Do you wonder at this after such a
manifest stroke by a benevolent Providence? My
wife being dead, Roger was saved to us! It was
the one song of my still undisciplined soul, and I
had to assume coldness lest they should see the great-
ness of my joy. A wicked and guilty rejoicing you
will say, and you are right. But I had no memory
then of the part I had played in this fatality. I
had forgotten my reckless flight from the grotto,
which left her with no aid but that of her own tri-
umphant spirit to help her over those treacherous
rocks. The necessity for keeping secret this part of
our disgraceful story led me to exert myself to keep
it out of my own mind. It has only come back to
me in all its force since a new horror, a new suspicion,
has driven me to review carefully every incident of
that awful night.


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 215
"I was never a man of much logic, and when they
came to me on that morning of which I have just
spoken and took me in where she lay and pointed
to her beautiful cold body stretched ojut in seeming
peace under the satin coverlet, and then to the pile
of dainty clothes lying neatly folded on a chair with
just one fairy slipper on top, I shuddered at her fate
but asked no questions, not even when one of the
women of the house mentioned the circumstance of
the single slipper and said that a search should be
made for its mate. Nor was I as much impressed
as one would naturally expect by the whisper dropped
in my ear that something was the matter with her
wrists. It is true that I lifted the lace they had
carefully spread over them and examined the dis-
coloration which extended like a ring about each
pearly arm; but having no memories of any violence
offered her (I had not so much as laid hand upon
her in the grotto), these marks failed to rouse my
interest. But — and now I must leap a year in
my story — there came a time when both of these
facts recurred to my mind with startling distinctness
and clamored for explanation.
"I had risen above the shock which such a death
following such events would naturally occasion even
in one of my blunted sensibilities, and was striving
to live a new life under the encouragement of my
now fully reconciled father, when accident forced
me to re-enter the grotto where I had never stepped
foot since that night. A favorite dog in chase of
some innocent prey had escaped the leash and run


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 217
ing close, I seemed to see my own wild figure spring-
ing away from her to the grotto's mouth and so over
the rocks. But here fancy faltered, caught by a
quick recollection to which I had never given a
thought till now. As I made my way along those
rocks, a sound had struck my ear from where some
stunted bushes made a shadow in the moonlight.
The wind might have caused it or some small night
creature hustling away at my approach; and to some
such cause I must at the time have attributed it. But
now, with brain fired by suspicion, it seemed more
like the quick intake of a human breath. Some one
had been lying there in wait, listening at the one loop-
hole in the rocks where it was possible to hear what
was said and done in the heart of the grotto. But
who? who? and for what purpose this listening; and
to what end did it lead?
"Though I no longer loved even the memory of
my wife, I felt my hair lift, as I asked myself these
questions. There seemed to be but one logical an-
swer to the last, and it was this: A struggle followed
by death. The shoe fallen from her foot, the
clothes found folded in her room (my wife was never
orderly), and the dimly blackened wrists which were
snow-white when she dealt the cards — all seemed
to point to such a conclusion. She may have died
from heart-failure, but a struggle had preceded her
death, during which some man's strong fingers had
been locked about her wrists. And again the ques-
tion rose, Whose?
"If any place was ever hated by mortal man that


218 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
grotto was hated by me. I loathed its walls, its
floor, its every visible and invisible corner. To
linger there — to look — almost tore my soul from
my body; yet I did linger and did look and this is
what I found by way of reward.
"Behind a projecting ledge of stone from which
a tattered rug still hung, I came upon two nails
driven a few feet apart in a fissure of the rock. I
had driven those nails myself long before for a cer-
tain gymnastic attachment much in vogue at the time,
and on looking closer, I discovered hanging from
them the rope-ends by which I was wont to pull
myself about. So far there was nothing to rouse
any but innocent reminiscences. But when I heard
the dog's low moan and saw him leap at the curled-
up ends, and nose them with an eager look my way,
I remembered the dark marks circling the wrists
about which I had so often clasped my mother's
bracelets, and the world went black before me.
"When consciousness returned — when I could
once more move and see and think, I noted another
fact. Cards were strewn about the floor, face up
and in a fixed order as if laid in a mocking mood to
be looked upon by reluctant eyes; and near the
ominous half-circle they made, a cushion from the
lounge, stained horribly with what I then thought to
be blood, but which I afterwards found to be wine.
Vengeance spoke in those ropes and in the carefully
spread-out cards, and murder in the smothering pil-
low. The vengeance of one who had watched her
corroding influence eat the life out of my honor and


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 219
whose love for our little Roger was such that any
deed which ensured his continued presence in the
home appeared not only warrantable but obligatory.
Alas! I knew of but one person in the whole world
who could cherish feeling to this extent or possess
sufficient will power to carry her lifeless body back
to the house and lay it in her bed and give no sign
of the abominable act from that day on to this.
"Miss Strange, there are men who have a peculiar
conception of duty. My father"
"You need not go on." How gently, how
tenderly our Violet spoke. "I understand your
trouble"
Did she? She paused to ask herself if this were
so, and he, deaf perhaps to her words, caught up his
broken sentence and went on:
"My father was in the hall the day I came stag-
gering in from my visit to the grotto. No words
passed, but our eyes met and from that hour I have
seen death in his countenance and he has seen it in
mine, like two opponents, each struck to the heart,
who stand facing each other with simulated smiles
till they fall. My father will drop first. He is
old — very old since that day five weeks ago; and to
see him die and not be sure — to see the grave close
over a possible innocence, and I left here in ignorance
of the blissful fact till my own eyes close forever,
is more than I can hold up under; more than any
son could. Cannot you help me then to a positive
knowledge? Think! think! A woman's mind is
strangely penetrating, and yours, I am told, has an


220 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
intuitive faculty more to be relied upon than the
reasoning of men. It must suggest some means of
confirming my doubts or of definitely ending them."
Then Violet stirred and looked about at him and
finally found voice.
"Tell me something about your father's ways.
What are his habits? Does he sleep well or is he
wakeful at night?"
"He has poor nights. I do not know how poor
because I am not often with him. His valet, who
has always been in our family, shares his room and
acts as his constant nurse. He can watch over him
better than I can; he has no distracting trouble on his
mind."
"And little Roger? Does your father see much
of little Roger? Does he fondle him and seem
happy in his presence?"
"Yes; yes. T have often wondered at it, but he
does. They are great chums. It is a pleasure to
see them together."
"And the child clings to him — shows no fear —
sits on his lap or on the bed and plays as children do
play with his beard or with his watch-chain?"
"Yes. Only once have I seen my little chap
shrink, and that was when my father gave him a look
of unusual intensity — looking for his mother in him
perhaps."
"Mr. Upjohn, forgive me the question; it seems
necessary. Does your father — or rather did your
father before he fell ill — ever walk in the direc-
tion of the grotto or haunt in any way the rocks
which surround it?"


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 221
"I cannot say. The sea is there; he naturally
loves the sea. But I have never seen him standing
on the promontory."
"Which way do his windows look?"
"Towards the sea."
"Therefore towards the promontory?"
"Yes."
"Can he see it from his bed?"
"No. Perhaps that is the cause of a peculiar
habit he has."
"What habit?"
"Every night before he retires (he is not yet con-
fined to his bed) he stands for a few minutes in his
front window looking out. He says it's his good-
night to the ocean. When he no longer does this,
we shall know that the end is very near."
The face of Violet began to clear. Rising, she
turned oh the electric light, and then, reseating her-
self, remarked with an aspect of quiet cheer:
"I have two ideas; but they necessitate my pres-
ence at your place. You will not mind a visit? My
brother will accompany me."
Roger Upjohn did not need to speak, hardly to
make a gesture; his expression was so eloquent.
She thanked him as if he had answered in words,
adding with an air of gentle reserve: " Providence
assists us in this matter. I am invited to Beverly
next week to attend a wedding. I was intending to
stay two days, but I will make it three and spend
the extra one with you."
"What are your requirements, Miss Strange? I
presume you have some."


222 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
Violet turned from the imposing portrait of Mr.
Upjohn which she had been gravely contemplating,
and met the troubled eye of her young host with an
enigmatical flash of her own. But she made no
answer in words. Instead, she lifted her right hand
and ran one slender finger thoughtfully up the casing
of the door near which they stood till it struck a
nick in the old mahogany almost on a level with her
head.
"Is your son Roger old enough to reach so far?"
she asked with another short look at him as she let
her finger rest where it had struck the roughened
wood. "I thought he was a little fellow."
"He is. That cut was made by — by my wife;
a sample of her capricious willfulness. She wished
to leave a record of herself in the substance of our
house as well as in our lives. That nick marks her
height. She laughed when she made it. 'Till the
walls cave in or burn,' is what she said. And I
thought her laugh and smile captivating."
Cutting short his own laugh which was much too
sardonic for a lady's ears, he made a move as if to
lead the way into another portion of the room. But
Violet failed to notice this, and lingering in quiet
contemplation of this suggestive little nick — the
only blemish in a room of ancient colonial magnifi-
cence — she thoughtfully remarked:
"Then she was a small woman?" adding with
seeming irrelevance —" like myself."
Roger winced. Something in the suggestion hurt
him, and in the nod he gave there was an air of


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 223
coldness which under ordinary circumstances would
have deterred her from pursuing this subject further.
But the circumstances were not ordinary, and she
allowed herself to say:
"Was she so very different from me — in figure,
I mean?"
"No. Why do you ask? Shall we not join your
brother on the terrace?"
"Not till I have answered the question you put me
a moment ago. You wished to know my require-
ments. One of the most important you have al-
ready fulfilled. You have given your servants a
half-holiday and by so doing ensured to us full liberty
of action. What else I need in the attempt I pro-
pose to make, you will find listed in this memoran-
dum." And taking a slip of paper from her bag, she
offered it to him with a hand, the trembling of which
he would have noted had he been freer in mind.
As he read, she watched him, her fingers nervously
clutching her throat.
"Can you supply what I ask? " she faltered, as he
failed to raise his eyes or make any move or even to
utter the groan she saw urging up to his lips. "Will
you?" she impetuously urged, as his fingers closed
spasmodically on the paper, in evidence that he un-
derstood at last the trend of her daring purpose.
The answer came slowly, but it came. "I will.
But what"
Her hand rose in a pleading gesture.
"Do not ask me, but take Arthur and myself into
the garden and show us the flowers. Afterwards, I
should like a glimpse of the sea."


224 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
He bowed and they joined Arthur who had already
begun to stroll through the grounds.
Violet was seldom at a loss for talk even at the
most critical moments. But she was strangely
tongue-tied on this occasion, as was Roger himself.
Save for a few observations casually thrown out by
Arthur, the three passed in a disquieting silence
through pergola after pergola, and around beds gor-
geous with every variety of fall flowers, till they
turned a sharp corner and came in full view of the
sea.
"Ah!" fell in an admiring murmur from Violet's
lips as her eyes swept the horizon. Then as they
settled on a mass of rock jutting out from the shore
in a great curve, she leaned towards her host and
softly whispered,
"The promontory?"
He nodded, and Violet ventured no farther, but
stood for a little while gazing at the tumbled rocks.
Then, with a quick look back at the house, she asked
him to point out his father's window.
He did so, and as she noted how openly it faced
the sea, her expression relaxed and her manner lost
some of its constraint. As they turned to reenter
the house, she noticed an old man picking flowers
from a vine clambering over one end of the piazza.
"Who is that? " she asked.
"Our oldest servant, and my father's own man,"
was Roger's reply. "He is picking my father's
favorite flowers, a few late honeysuckles."
"How fortunate! Speak to him, Mr. Upjohn.
Ask him how your father is this evening."


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 225
"Accompany me and I will; and do not be afraid
to enter into conversation with him. He is the
mildest of creatures and devoted to his patient. He
likes nothing better than to talk about him."
Violet, with a meaning look at her brother, ran up
the steps at Roger's side. As she did so, the old man
turned and Violet was astonished at the wistfulness
with which he viewed her.
"What a dear old creature!" she murmured.
"See how he stares this way. You would think he
knew me."
"He is glad to see a woman about the place. He
has felt our isolation — Good-evening, Abram. Let
this young lady have a spray of your sweetest honey-
suckle. And, Abram, before you go, how is Father
to-night? Still sitting up?"
"Yes, sir. He is very regular in his ways. Nine
is his hour; not a minute before and not a minute
later. I don't have to look at the clock when he
says: 'There, Abram, I've sat up long enough.'"
"When my father retires before his time or goes
to bed without a final look at the sea, he will be a very
sick man, Abram."
"That he will, Mr. Roger; that he will. But he's
very feeble to-night, very feeble. I noticed that he
gave the boy fewer kisses than usual. Perhaps he
was put out because the child was brought in a half-
hour earlier than the stated time. He don't like
changes; you know that, Mr. Roger; he don't like
changes. I hardly dared to tell him that the serv-
ants were all going out in a bunch to-night."


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 227
determine — Oh, Arthur! still admiring the pro-
spect? I do not wonder. But I find it chilly. Let
us go in."
Roger Upjohn, sitting by himself in the library,
was watching the hands of the mental clock slowly
approaching the hour of nine.
Never had silence seemed more oppressive nor
his sense of loneliness greater. Yet the boom of the
ocean was distinct to the ear, and human presence no
farther away than the terrace where Arthur Strange
could be seen smoking out his cigar in solitude. The
silence and the loneliness were in Roger's own soul;
and, in face of the expected revelation which would
make or unmake his future, the desolation they
wrought was measureless.
To cut his suspense short, he rose at length and
hurried out to the spot designated by Miss Strange
as the best point from which to keep watch upon his
father's window. It was at the end of the piazza
where the honeysuckle hung, and the odor of the
blossoms, so pleasing to his father, well-nigh over-
powered him not only by its sweetness but by the
many memories it called up. Visions of that father
as he looked at all stages of their relationship passed
in a bewildering maze before him. He saw him as
he appeared to his childish eyes in those early days
of confidence when the loss of the mother cast them
in mutual dependence upon each other. Then a
sterner picture of the relentless parent who sees but
one straight course to success in this world and the
next. Then the teacher and the matured adviser;


228 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
and then — oh, bitter change! the man whose hopes
he had crossed — whose life he had undone, and all
for her who now came stealing upon the scene with
her slim, white, jeweled hand forever lifted up be-
tween them. And she! Had he ever seen her more
clearly? Once more the dainty figure stepped from
fairy-land, beauteous with every grace that can al-
lure and finally destroy a man. And as he saw, he
trembled and wished that these moments of awful
waiting might pass and the test be over which would
lay bare his father's heart and justify his fears or
dispel them forever.
But the crisis, if crisis it was, was one of his own
making and not to be hastened or evaded. With
one quick glance at his father's window, he turned in
his impatience towards the sea whose restless and
continuous moaning had at length struck his ear.
What was in its call to-night that he should thus sway
towards it as though drawn by some dread magnetic
force? He had been born to the dashing of its
waves and knew its every mood and all the passion
of its song from frolicsome ripple to melancholy
dirge. But there was something odd and inexplic-
able in its effect upon his spirit as he faced it at this
hour. Grim and implacable — a sound rather than
a sight — it seemed to hold within its invisible dis-
tances the image of his future fate. What this image
was and why he should seek for it in this impene-
trable void, he did not know. He felt himself held
and was struggling with this influence as with an un-
known enemy when there rang out, from the hall


THE GROTTO SPECTRE 229
within, the preparatory chimes for which his ear was
waiting, and then the nine slow strokes which sig-
nalized the moment when he was to look for his
father's presence at the window.
Had he wished, he could not have forborne that
look. Had his eyes been closing in death, or so he
felt, the trembling lids would have burst apart at this
call and the revelations it promised.
And what did he see? What did that window
hold for him?
Nothing that he might not have seen there any
night at this hour. His father's figure drawn up be-
hind the panes in wistful contemplation of the night.
No visible change in his attitude, nothing forced or
unusual in his manner. Even the hand, lifted to
pull down the shade, moves with its familiar hesita-
tion. In a moment more that shade will be down
and— But nol the lifted hand falls back; the easy
attitude becomes strained, fixed. He is staring now
— not merely gazing out upon the wastes of sky and
sea; and Roger, following the direction of his glance,
stares also in breathless emotion at what those dis-
tances, but now so impenetrable, are giving to the
eye.
A specter floating in the air above the promontory!
The specter of a woman — of his wife, clad, as she
had been clad that fatal night! Outlined in super-
natural light, it faces them with lifted arms showing
the ends of rope dangling from either wrist. A
sight awful to any eye, but to the man of guilty
heart


230 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
Ah! it comes — the cry for which the agonized
son had been listening! An old man's shriek, hoarse
with the remorse of sleepless nights and days of
unimaginable regret and foreboding! It cuts the
night. It cuts its way into his heart. He feels his
senses failing him, yet he must glance once more at
the window and see with his last conscious look —
But what is this! a change has taken place in the
picture and he beholds, not the distorted form of his
father sinking back in shame and terror before this
visible image of his secret sin, but that of another
weak, old man falling to the floor behind his back!
Abram! the attentive, seemingly harmless, guardian
of the household! Abram! who had never spoken
a word or given a look in any way suggestive of his
having played any other part in the hideous drama
of their lives than that of the humble and sympa-
thetic servant!
The shock was too great, the relief too absolute
for credence. He, the listener at the grotto? He,
the avenger of the family's honor? He, the insurer
of little Roger's continuance with the family at a cost
the one who loved him best would rather have died
himself than pay? Yes! there is no misdoubting this
old servitor's attitude of abject appeal, or the mean-
ing of Homer Upjohn's joyfully uplifted countenance
and outspreading arms. The servant begs for mercy
from man, and the master is giving thanks to
Heaven. Why giving thanks? Has he been the
prey of cankering doubts also? Has the father
dreaded to discover that in the son which the son
has dreaded to discover in the father?





THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK
By Broughton Brandenburg
The telephone bell in the outer office rang, and open-
ing the switch at the side of my desk I took up my
stand-'phone and answered.
"Hello. Well?"
"Hello, is this Duncan & Betts? " inquired a man's
voice with a slight foreign accent.
"Yes."
"I want to speak wit' Mister Lawrence Duncan."
"This is Mr. Duncan. What can I do for you?"
"T'is is Mr. Martin Anderson, of 196 Gramercy
Park. Yust now while I was eating my breakwast in
my rooms over my real estate office, I was called to
my telephone by Mr. George Rhodes, who is in t'e
Municipal Bank. He is a young man who wants to
marry my daughter Marie, and he called me up to
tell me t'at when he opened t'e wault a little while
ago, he found t'at since he closed it t'e night before,
a package wit' more t'an a million dollars in bonds
was gone. He is responsible for t'e wault, and no
one else, and he called me up to tell me, and say he
did not take it, to tell Marie t'at, but he wit'drew his
request for her hand. Now t'en, Mr. Duncan, I
Copyright, 1905, by The Metropolitan Magazine Company. By
permission.
233


234 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
don't care one tam about him, but my daughter must
not be made to come in t'is case wit' t'e noos-papers
or t'e gossip, so I want you to go over to t'e bank
and see him and help him out in every way, yust so
he keep his mout' shut about Marie, and if t'ey lock
him up I want t'at she don't go to see him or no such
foolishness. I send you my check for five hundred
t'is morning, and I want to know all about what you
do, at my house to-night. Will you do it?"
"Yes. I will go over at once," I answered.
"T'at is all. Good-by—"
"Thank you. Good-by. I will call this eve-
ning."
"Good-by, Mr. Duncan."
My first impression as I hung up the receiver was
a thrill at being thus thrust into the center of what
appeared to be one of the biggest cases which had
transpired in years. My second was a pleasurable
recognition of the crisp, direct, clear, and ample state-
ment of the matter which the old real estate man had
made. It had all been done in two minutes or less.
It is not often that we lawyers encounter people out-
side of our own and the newspaper profession, who
can state anything so concisely and not lose any value
in it.
At this moment, Betts, my partner, and the stenog-
rapher came in, so I hurried over to the Municipal
Bank.
Business was just beginning for the day. I could
see at a glance over the men behind the brass screens
that they as a whole did not as yet know that the


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 235
bank was a loser by a million. The cashier's door
was open, and he was just smoothing out his morn-
ing's mail in the calmest of manners. No one looked
up as I entered; that showed normal state of mind
among the clerks.
I asked for Mr. George Rhodes, and a tall, broad-
shouldered, clean-cut, young chap came forward from
a desk in the extreme rear of the place and took my
card through the bars. Even with the slight view I
could get of his face, I perceived he was pale and
haggard. He opened a side door and admitted me
to the anteroom of the directors' chamber. I told
him I had come in his interest, retained by Mr.
Anderson, and stated my client's reason for sending
me, namely, to prevent his daughter's name from
being mentioned in the matter at any or all times,
and asked the young man what I could do for him.
He had been sitting running his thumb-nail pre-
cisely along the edge of my card, and.now he looked
up and said, in a dull, expressionless way,
"Really, Mr. Duncan, I have thought the matter
over carefully, and there is nothing to do."
He seemed so numbed and hopeless that I was
amused.
"You surprise me, Mr. Rhodes," I said. "Surely
a thing like this cannot in itself shut off any action.
In the first place, give me the facts. We will see
what can be done."
"The facts are few enough," he answered simply.
"The bonds were in a package four inches thick.
They were '90 government fours, clipped and worth


236 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
one million, two hundred thousand, when entered the
first of the month, three weeks ago. They were
marked with a typewritten slip on the end, and lay
in the securities compartment of the vault. Last
night, with the assistant cashier and the receiving
teller, as is our rule here, I checked the cash and
books going in. We together do not check securities
in that compartment, except once every month, but
I go over them every night and morning in the way
that I was instructed by the cashier — that is, the
packets are piled in alphabetical classification, and
the piling is done so that if a packet were taken out,
it would make a hole which I should see at a glance,
and by reference to my list see what it was. Last
night there was nothing missing, for the pile was
perfectly even across the top, and we closed the vault
and set the time-lock. This morning the time-lock
was still running when I arrived, and the safe was
absolutely just as I left it. When I opened the vault,
I went over the securities as usual, and observing a
slight depression in the rear tier, put my hand on it.
It gave way enough to show that something was miss-
ing, and I checked off the packets and found the '90
governments gone. I checked them over three
times, and then, when I had got over the shock,
went into the booth outside and telephoned Mr.
Anderson just what I have told you. Having asked
him for his daughter, I felt I owed that to them and
to myself. The assistant cashier and the assistant
receiving teller were with me when I opened the
vault, and I checked out the books and cash so that


240 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
tures, I was surprised to find he was a full-blooded
Indian. He was dressed in clothes that did not
seem compatible with the rank of a servant.
Rand entered with a brisk step, a frank smile on
his keen face. As he gripped my hand I realized
that far more physical power was in his possession
than one would think by his frame, of medium height
and slender almost to thinness. It was afterward
that I found every inch of him was whipcord and
steel.
We sat down in the inner room, and I told him
the story of Rhodes and the bonds. When I had
finished he frowned ever so slightly and said, "Is
that all?"
I thought I had been rather explicit. So I replied
with a little rigor: "That seems to cover the case."
"Do you know whether there is one night watch-
man or two? What is the make of the safe? Have
there ever been any attempts at robbery of the bank?
Are all the members of the bank staff present this
morning? Has the president been on the right side
of the market for the past year?"
The questions came like shots from a rapid-fire
gun. He did not wait for me to answer.
"I see you do not know. We will waste no
time. You are to meet young Rhodes at lunch. I
want you to invite me, too, for I want to see him."
We took a Sixth Avenue train to Rector Street,
and at 12.15 chose our seats in a corner compart-
ment in Haan's. We had been at the table a
moment when Rhodes, still very pale, entered and


242 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
man, named Hanahan, has been at the bank twenty
years and has considerable property? How do you
know about his property?"
"When I was on accounts he always had fifteen
or twenty thousand on time deposits, and drew some
large checks or made heavy deposits, when Mr.
Anderson bought or sold property for him—"
"Whom did you say, Mr. Anderson? The real
estate agent who sent Mr. Duncan to see you?"
"Yes, Mr. Martin Anderson. He is Hanahan's
agent. They were old volunteer firemen together
in Williamsburg, shortly after they came to this
country."
"Indeed! How did you know that?"
"Well, one evening shortly after I met Marie,
I went to call on her, and she said her father was
not at home; that he was down at our bank chatting
with Hanahan and having a smoke. Then she told
me about their having belonged to the same fire
company. After the old man had taken a dislike
to me and threatened to shoot me if I came to the
house again, I used to watch for Hanahan's check,
for every time he drew, I knew he was expecting
to see Mr. Anderson, and I would go up to the house.
I never missed it."
Rand smiled as if he enjoyed the humor in the
instance. He thought a moment, and then said:
"Well, now, if you will go back to the bank, I
will be over presently accompanied by a man from
the Broadway office of Mahler's, and you will be
asked to show us the vault. Please do not indicate
that you know me."


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 243
When Rhodes was gone, Rand turned to me
quickly and said: "Mr. Duncan, kindly go over to
Mr. Robert Steele, in Hargan's office, in Wall Street,
and tell him I sent you. Ask him whether any gov-
ernment fours of '90 have been in evidence in the
market recently. Meet me in half an hour at the
telephone booth in the Park Row drug store."
I hurried to the office of the great firm of Hargan
& Company, and sent in my card to Mr. Steele with
"through Mr. Rand " on the corner. I was ushered
in immediately.
"Mr. Steele, I was sent here by Mr. Rand to
inquire whether there have been any '90 government
fours on the market in more than the usual quantity
recently?"
At the question he started visibly, and whirled
abruptly around in his desk chair to face me. He
stared at me a moment as if weighing his words
forthcoming.
"Well — yes," he said slowly, dropping his eyes
in a manner that was anything but frank. "Yes,
there have been — some." He paused and looked
up at me again, took off his glasses, and, wiping
them tentatively, put them on and looked me full in
the face, as if to decide on his course.
"Since Mr. Rand sent you, it must be all right,
for we trust Mr. Rand thoroughly here. Tell him
that a pile of them has been dumped into the market
in the past week, not into the market exactly, but
Strauss brokers had them, and loans on them were
used to buy Overland Pacific at an average of 87,


244 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
and when it reached 161, last Thursday, whoever
was in this pool began to take profits, as nearly as
we can tell, and closed out the line at an average
of 157. Of course Overland went to 136, but she
is — let me see — let me see —" he looked at the
tape —" is 206, so whoever held these bonds must
have been outside of Strauss's pool. It cost us about
three million dollars, and if you can tell me any more
about it, I will be very grateful."
I told him there was absolutely nothing of which
I knew personally.
Suddenly I remembered that I had not learned
even the name of the president of the Municipal
Bank, and if Rand had asked Rhodes at lunch, I
had let it slip by me. Inwardly ashamed of my
loose methods, compared with Rand's thorough ones,
I hastened to ask of Mr. Steele, as a by-matter,
being sure that he would know. I was at the door
ready to go out when the matter flashed into my
mind.
"By the way, Mr. Steele," I said, " do you happen
to know the president of the Municipal Bank—"
"J. R. Farrington Smith?" He jerked his head
around sharply toward me as he interrupted me.
"Indeed I do." Then he emitted a short, grating
laugh, and continued, looking at me sharply all the
while. "How odd I should be thinking of him also
at that moment! Do you know, Mr. Duncan, that
Strauss is or was his broker? Yet, he is on the short
end of Overland very badly; that I know, to my
sorrow."


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 245
He dropped his voice to a confidence-inviting tone,
and said as he leaned forward, motioning me to a
chair once more:
"Come now, Mr. Duncan, why should we dis-
semble? You are evidently very well informed in
this matter. Did Smith flop and put up those bonds
to go long on Overland? He made a pretty penny,
if he did. Honestly, is that the way he played fast
and loose with us?"
I remained standing and put on my hat to further
signify that I was about to go.
"Mr. Steele, to tell the truth, I did not know
until a moment ago that J. R. Farrington Smith is
president of the Municipal Bank. You have just
informed me."
He became very stiff in his manner, and turned to
his papers as if already thinking of them, and said
quietly:
"Oh, then we are talking to no purpose. Good
morning, Mr. Duncan."
By a short cut and a brisk walk up Nassau Street,
I reached the Park Row drug store on the minute
of the half hour. A man was in the telephone booth
talking, and just outside the half-open door was
Rand, directing the queries that the man was making.
The stranger was evidently the man from Mahler's.
As I approached, Rand motioned me to silence.
"Well, my books show the number is D 186 N,"
the safe man was saying; "we have no record of
complaints or repairs back to '94. Have you any
before that? — All right, I'll hold the wire.— Hello,


246 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
yes. You have none at all. Now what is the pat-
tern of the time-lock? — Neilson patent, yes.—
Well, who superintended the Secret Construction
Room when this one was made? — The old man
himself, eh? — Where is Neilson now? — How long
has he been dead? — Well, was his brother-in-law
working with him in 1890? — Wait a moment—"
He kept the receiver to his ear and turned to
Rand.
"Is there anything else you wish me to ask, Mr.
Rand?"
"Inquire if there has been any trouble with any
D class vaults. That will be all."
The safe man repeated the question into the
'phone; received the answer, hung up the receiver,
turned around and said:
"None but an attempt to blow one open in the
Produce Exchange in Springfield. It failed. He
says the man who controlled the secret measurements
on that set of vaults was the patentee of the time-
lock, and he is dead. The measurements are sealed
and filed. The patents went to his brother-in-law
who worked with him, who sold them outright to
the company for a song."
"What was his name?" asked Rand, with disap-
pointment in his voice and manner.
"They have no record and do not remember. He
was just a drunken, thick-headed Swede."
When Rand was paying the telephone toll the
clerk figured on the rate to Cincinnati, so I knew
they had been talking to the Mahler offices at the


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 247;
factory. I told Rand just what had happened in
Steele's office, and he smiled slightly and said:
"Well, well, the lost bonds or others have been
used as collateral for a week past, eh, and Farring-
ton Smith was on the wrong side of the market. I
do not think Rhodes will 'do any time' if he is
clever. I have learned that he was a favorite em-
ployee of Smith's. Let us go over to the Munici-
pal."
At the bank, the man from Mahler's spoke a
moment to the cashier, and received his permission
to show the vault to "two prospective customers,"
and a boy was sent to tell Rhodes that the visitors
had been accorded the courtesy.
As we passed the president's inner office door, I
saw Smith at his desk, and noticed how pale and
careworn he appeared. I saw that Rand observed
it also.
Rhodes admitted us to the enclosure, and, ac-
cording to Rand's previous instructions, gave us no
sign of recognition. Rand and the man from
Mahler's examined the interior of the electrically
lighted vault. The safe man tapped the floor all
around with the stick he carried, sounding for con
cealed tunnelling, but the inspection was unfruitful
The place was in perfect order, and the lock re
sponded repeatedly to the safe man's skilled touch
in a way that showed it was in excellent condition
Rand had been standing still, looking carefully at
everything within range of his keen eyes, stroking
his silver-touched hair lightly with one hand in a
way I have observed many times since.


248 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
Suddenly he pulled out his watch, looked at the
dial of the time-clock, then at his watch, then at the
bank clock, an electrically-regulated affair hung on
the wall. The clock read 2 p. m. to the second.
"I beg pardon," said Rand to Rhodes. "What
time is it by your watch?"
Rhodes took out his timepiece, and said: "I
have two o'clock flat."
I now noticed that the dial of the time-lock stood
1.58:30.
"When did you notice that the clock of the time-
lock was slow?"
"It is slow, isn't it? Why, I had forgot that.
It was last Monday morning, a week ago. I re-
member I was a little late," replied Rhodes.
"Has any one swept in here since?"
Rand asked this with his eyes fixed on the dark
corner at the heel of the right door.
"No, not in the vault."
Rand stooped and put his hand into the corner.
For a moment I thought he was picking up some-
thing, but he straightened up and brushed his fingers
one against the other, as if ridding them of dust, so
I knew his hands were empty.
In a moment he signified he was through, and we
left the place, and at the corner parted with the
man from Mahler's. We walked on toward my
office.
"What do you make of that?" said Rand sud-
denly, and I saw he was holding something toward
me between his thumb and forefinger. I was sure


250 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
paused a moment as if half expecting some one, and
hurried out as we entered the next upbound car.
When I went into the office, Betts came in with a
slip of paper in his hand. After I had introduced
him to Rand he said:
"Duncan, for shame not to be in when nice young
ladies call on you. The pretty daughter of your
old real estate client, Anderson, was just here.
She has received a letter from the young fellow who
took those bonds, in which he says he wishes her to
forget him. She refuses to believe he is guilty, and
has had a scene with her father, who must have told
her that he has retained you, for she came down here
demanding that you take her to see the young chap,
wherever he is locked up. Has he been arrested
yet?"
"No," I said, "he is over in the bank."
"I think he will be there for some time yet," ob-
served Rand, looking out of the window.
"Well, she will be back in half an hour," said
Betts, laying down the strip of paper on my desk.
"She did not have a card, and wrote her name.
Excuse me, Mr. Rand, I am not through with my
correspondence yet, and it will soon be three
o'clock."
As Betts went out Rand rose and looked at the
strip with the name written in a tall, delicate hand,
"Miss Marie Neilson Anderson."
In a short time Miss Anderson came into the outer
office, and I brought her in and closed the door.
With trembling lips and tears constantly ready to


252 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"Yes, I was born in New York."
"Thank you kindly, that is all," said Rand, and
was promptly so deep in thought that he barely rose
and bowed, as she left, a few minutes later. He
kept his feet, and put on his hat, as if he, too, were
going.
"I believe you told me that you were to go to
Anderson's house to-night, and report, did you not?"
he asked.
"Yes, I am sorry that I can not make a better
showing both for my client and for Rhodes."
"I suppose you mean that you hoped a man of my
reputation would have offered better support to you
in yours," he observed with a quizzical smile that
nettled me, as he walked to the door.
"I should like to go with you, Mr. Duncan," he
continued. "I will meet you at the northwest corner
of Gramercy Park at eight o'clock. Will you be so
kind as to bring young Rhodes with you? 'Phone
him at the bank, now, and you might come prepared
for anything in the way of a fight, for — we will
close up the case to-night."
He shut the door and went out. I was wild to
call him back and get an explanation, but pride re-
strained me.
That evening Rhodes met me by appointment at
the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and we walked over to the
corner Rand had named. We had been standing
there a moment, when a carriage drove up, stopped,
and Rand alighted, followed by J. R. Farrington
Smith and the brawny Indian.


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 253
I could see by the street light that Smith was very-
white, and the Indian kept just at his elbow and a
little behind him as they advanced to meet us. Rand
presented me to Smith, who bowed coldly. If Smith
and Rhodes exchanged salutations I did not notice it.
Rand said to me, as we walked along to the house
after he had told the cabman to wait for him:
"Will you kindly ask Mr. Anderson to see Mr.
Duncan and some gentlemen?"
I was angry with him for a number of small things
which had occurred during the day, but more than
ever now, for bringing Smith into the case, and at
Anderson's house, a proceeding which would be sure
to involve Anderson and his daughter in the expose
that must occur in so short a time.
A little maid admitted us at a door beside Ander-
son's real estate office, and passed back along a
narrow hall and up to a well-furnished apartment
immediately over the offices. The maid vanished
through the portieres, and I judged by the sounds
that she found Anderson in the third room to the
rear. I could hear him clearing his throat as he
came.
As he stepped through the portieres, I saw he
was a man of fifty, of good, appearance, short and
heavy, with large hands and a massive jaw. His
eyes were very small and nearly hidden by the over-
folding wrinkles about them.
"Good evening, gentlemen," he said cheerily,
looking about in a pleasant though puzzled way.
I rose and went forward saying, "I am Mr.


254 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
Duncan, Mr. Anderson. I believe you know Mr.
Smith and Mr. Rhodes. This is Mr. Lawrence
Rand, with whom I have consulted in this matter."
The Indian, whom I scarcely knew how to con-
sider, whether companion of Rand's or his servant,
had stepped back into the shadow by the portieres,
and I do not think Anderson saw him, so I made
no reference to him whatever. I was very busy
thinking just what to say and how to say it, for
Rand's bringing Smith with him showed that Smith
was informed in part or wholly, and was so unex-
pected that I had had no chance to ask him aside
just what the situation was. He left me in no un-
certainty. He gracefully superseded me in the ini-
tiative by drawing back a chair at a small table in the
center of the room, in the full glow of the shaded
light, and saying:
"Would you mind sitting here, please, Mr.
Anderson? I shall want you to write something in
a moment, and it will be more convenient for you."
Anderson sat down, as requested, and turned his
face toward Rand, as if he knew where the power
lay. I could see the arteries in his neck throbbing.
I noticed that Rhodes was very pale, and the bank
president was laboring under great excitement.
"Now, to be brief, gentlemen, we are about to
adjust this matter of the disappearance of twelve
hundred thousand dollars' worth of bonds from the
vault of the Municipal Bank."
Rand spoke in a soft, even voice. I think I was
the only man who moved a muscle. I could see that


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 255
at least Anderson's blood did not quicken any. His
eyes may have turned toward Rhodes. I could not
tell. Rand went on:
"Before I say anything further, I wish to remind
the interested parties that I have brought an officer
with me, and any violence would be inadvisable.
"Mr. Anderson, you will kindly turn over to Mr.
Smith that packet of '90 government fours. Mr.
Smith will give you a receipt in full. You will also
give Mr. Smith your order on Strauss & Company
for four hundred thousand dollars, which is approxi-
mately what Mr. Smith lost when caught short on
Overland Pacific ten days ago, and also your order
to Mr. George Rhodes for the remainder of your
profits, when you went long on Overland Pacific,
this last week, by using the Municipal Bank as an
involuntary partner. You will also give your con-
sent to his marriage with your daughter. Mr.
Duncan here will arrange the matter of fees, and
that will close the incident. If you do not, Mr.
Smith will prosecute you, and I will furnish the evi-
dence. If Mr. Smith does not perform his share,
I will, in behalf of Mr. Rhodes, inform the bank
directors of his hand in Overland. Kindly do as I
have requested, Mr. Anderson."
The old fellow never changed color one whit, nor
did the throbbing of the arteries in his neck increase.
They diminished, if anything. A bitter sneer came
on his face, and as he spoke he dropped into very
broken English.
"Vot iss diss nonsense, Meester, Vot-afer-your-


256 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
nem-iss? Vot a ni'ice liddle scheme, bote Ah don't
ma'ke no mohney, baycoss Ah aind't got dey
bont-s —"
Rand held up a forefinger and the old man
stopped. He was now breathing hard, and was
flushed. Rand drew from his vest pocket and laid
on the table before Anderson the little steel disk.
Before Rand could speak, the portieres parted,
and in the opening stood Marie Anderson, very
white and drawn up to her full height. In one hand
she extended the packet with the typewritten slip
still on the end.
"Father," she said slowly, in a low, tense voice,
"here are the bonds. By accident I just found them
in a jar on the sideboard."
With surprising quickness Anderson drew out a
drawer in the table at which he sat, snatched up a
revolver, leaped to the doorway, thrusting his
daughter aside, but as he turned and fired pointblank
at Rand, who had vaulted the table to reach him,
the Indian knocked up the muzzle of the revolver
from behind. The bullet struck the ceiling, and the
next instant Anderson was on the floor, helpless in
the bearlike clasp of the big red man.
The girl had reeled as if about to faint. Rhodes
had sprung to her assistance, but she recovered her-
self and seemed to be anxious to get away from her
father, as if from a reptile. Rhodes led her to the
other side of the room.
"Take the gun away from him, and set him on
the chair again, Tom," said Rand, as if nothing had


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 257
happened. He returned to his own seat, and we too
sat down.
In fifteen seconds the smoke floating about the
ceiling was the only sign of the crisis just passed.
Rand began again:
"In order to give you an opportunity to recover
your composure, before you begin writing, Mr.
Anderson, and to prevent your indulging in any more
foolish lies, I will tell you the evidence against you.
You helped your brother-in-law, Neilson, make the
time-lock on the vault ordered for the Municipal
Bank in 1890. You inserted in the journal of the
main standard of the clock works a steel disk, in-
stead of a brass one, knowing that the steel against
steel would make a friction that would wear out both
in several years' time. By means of a second time-
lock accurately duplicated, and which, if I am not
mistaken, is ticking away in that black box on the
mantel behind you, you were able to tell very nearly
the very hour when you could turn back the bolts
of the Municipal vault without let or hindrance.
When your brother-in-law died, you sold his "patents
to the company, returned to New York, and began
to live for the hour when you could help yourself
to whatever you wished. You stopped drinking and
settled down. You went into the real estate busi-
ness, because you could obtain in that manner a
permanent hold on Hanahan, the watchman, at the
Municipal, whom you already knew, and you drew
him into the habit of seeing you on business regu-
larly at the bank at night. You have his perfect


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK 259
bank, as your duplicate time-lock showed you the steel
disk was worn so thin, a jar on the door would cause
the standard to drop, and the lock to release.
Hanahan, as he told me an hour ago, went across
the street for some tobacco, that Sunday night, leav-
ing you in the bank. In ninety seconds you had
opened the vault, taken the right packet, opened the
case of the time-lock, replaced the disk with a brass
one, closed the case, and closed the vault, but —
you carelessly dropped this worn disk on the floor!
"You used the bonds as collateral to buy stock,
not as a speculation, but as an investment that would
conceal the bonds, and by chance chose Overland
Pacific at a low figure, and it rose. You thought
best to take your profits, and only greed prevented
you from returning the bonds to Rhodes by mail.
As we have seen, you had not thought long enough
or deeply enough what you would do with your life-
time harvest, after you got it into your hands, and
suddenly you found yourself out of your depths.
You hid the bonds in a jar, just like a foolish old
woman. But I must compliment you on your clear
thinking and previous planning. I have never known
of anything so deliberate, and only a phlegmatic
Scandinavian would be capable of it, especially to
end up with such good nerves as you have shown
to-night. Mr. Smith does not wish to prosecute you,
and expose his speculations. Since Mr. Smith and
Mr. Duncan doubtless have other engagements to-
night, kindly write as I requested, a few minutes
ago."


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW
By Maurice LeBlanc
"I received your telegram and here I am," said a
gentleman with a gray mustache, who entered my
study, dressed in a dark-brown frock-coat and a wide-
brimmed hat, with a red ribbon in his buttonhole.
"What's the matter?"
Had I not been expecting Arsene Lupin, I should
certainly never have recognized him in the person
of this old half-pay officer:
"What's the matter? " I echoed. "Oh, nothing
much: a rather curious coincidence, that's all. And,
as I know that you would just as soon clear up a
mystery as plan one . . ."
"Well?"
"You seem in a great hurry!"
"I am . . . unless the mystery in question is
worth putting myself out for. So let us get to the
point."
"Very well. Just begin by casting your eye on
this little picture, which I picked up, a week or
two ago, in a grimy old shop on the other side of
the river. I bought it for the sake of its Empire
frame, with the palm-leaf ornaments on the mold-
ings . . . for the painting is execrable."
From "The Confessions of Arsene Lupin," Copyright, 1913,
by Maurice LeBlanc.
261


262 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"Execrable, as you say," said Lupin, after he
had examined it, "but the subject itself is rather
nice. That corner of an old courtyard, with its
rotunda of Greek columns, its sun-dial and its fish-
pond and that ruined well with the Renascence roof
and those stone steps and stone benches: all very
picturesque."
"And genuine," I added. "That picture, good
or bad, has never been taken out of its Empire
frame. Besides, it is dated. . . . There, in the
left-hand bottom corner: those red figures, 15 4. 2,
which obviously stand for 15 April, 1802."
"I dare say ... I dare say. . . . But you were
speaking of a coincidence and, so far, I fail to
see. . . ."
I went to a corner of my study, took a telescope,
fixed it on its stand and pointed it, through the
open window, at the open window of a little room
facing my flat, on the other side of the street. And
I asked Lupin to look through it.
He stooped forward. The slanting rays of the
morning sun lit up the room opposite, revealing a
set of mahogany furniture, all very simple, a large
bed and a child's bed hung with cretonne curtains.
"Ah!" cried Lupin, suddenly. "The same
picture!"
"Exactly the same!" I said. "And the date:
do you see the date, in red? 15. 4. 2."
"Yes, I see. . . . And who lives in that room?"
"A lady ... or, rather, a workwoman, for she
has to work for her living . . . needlework, hardly
enough to keep herself and her child."


264 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
Lupin, slowly. "And don't you know where she
goes to?"
"Nobody knows. She does not confide in a soul.
As a matter of fact, she talks very little."
"Are you sure of your information?"
"Absolutely. And the best proof of its accuracy
is that here she comes."
A door had opened in the back of the room op-
posite, admitting a little girl of seven or eight, who
came and looked out of the window. A lady ap-
peared behind her, tall, good-looking still and wear-
ing a sad and gentle air. Both of them were ready
and dressed, in clothes which were simple in them-
selves, but which pointed to a love of neatness and
a certain elegance on the part of the mother.
"You see," I whispered, "they are going out."
And presently the mother took the child by the
hand and they left the room together.
Lupin caught up his hat:
"Are you coming?"
My curiosity was too great for me to raise the
least objection. I went downstairs with Lupin.
As we stepped into the street, we saw my neigh-
bor enter a baker's shop. She bought two rolls and
placed them in a little basket which her daughter
was carrying and which seemed already to contain
some other provisions. Then they went in the
direction of the outer boulevards and followed them
as far as the Place de l'Etoile, where they turned
down the Avenue Kleber to walk toward Passy.
Lupin strolled silently along, evidently obsessed


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 265
by a train of thought which I was glad to have
provoked. From time to time, he uttered a sentence
which showed me the thread of his reflections; and
I was able to see that the riddle remained as much
a mystery to him as to myself.
Louise d'Ernemont, meanwhile, had branched off
to the left, along the Rue Raynouard, a quiet old
street in which Franklin and Balzac once lived, one
of those streets which, lined with old-fashioned
houses and walled gardens, give you the impression
of being a country-town. The Seine flows at the
foot of the slope which the street crowns; and a
number of lanes run down to the river.
My neighbor took one of these narrow, winding,
deserted lanes. The first building on the right was
a house the front of which faced the Rue Raynouard.
Next came a moss-grown wall, of a height above
the ordinary, supported by buttresses and bristling
with broken glass.
Half-way along the wall was a low, arched door.
Louise d'Ernemont stopped in front of this door
and opened it with a key which seemed to us enor-
mous. Mother and child entered and closed the
door.
"In any case," said Lupin, "she has nothing to
conceal, for she has not looked round once. . . ."
He had hardly finished his sentence when we
heard the sound of footsteps behind us. It was
two old beggars, a man and a woman, tattered,
dirty, squalid, covered in rags. They passed us
without paying the least attention to our presence.


268 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"By Jupiter! This is a funny job!"
We saw before us, within the confined space that
lay between the two windowless houses, the identical
scene represented in the old picture which I had
bought at a second-hand dealer's!
The identical scene! At the back, against the op-
posite wall, the same Greek rotunda displayed its
slender columns. In the middle, the same stone
benches topped a circle of four steps that ran down
to a fish-pond with moss-grown flags. On the left,
the same well raised its wrought-iron roof; and, close
at hand the same sun-dial showed its slanting
gnomon and its marble face.
The identical scene! And what added to the
strangeness of the sight was the memory, obsessing
Lupin and myself, of that date of the 15th of April,
inscribed in a corner of the picture, and the thought
that this very day was the 15th of April and that
sixteen or seventeen people, so different in age, con-
dition and manners, had chosen the 15th of April to
come together in this forgotten corner of Paris!
All of them, at the moment when we caught sight
of them, were sitting in separate groups on the
benches and steps; and all were eating. Not very
far from my neighbor and her daughter, the work-
man's family and the beggar couple were sharing
their provisions; while the footman, the gentleman in
the soiled suit, the infantry corporal and the two
lean sisters were making a common stock of their
sliced ham, their tins of sardines and their gruyere
cheese.


272 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
I
joined me and we stopped a passing taxi-cab:
"No. 34 Rue de Turin," he said to the driver.
The ground-floor of No. 34 was occupied by a
notary's office; and we were shown in, almost with-
out waiting, to Maitre Valandier, a smiling, pleasant-
spoken man of a certain age.
Lupin introduced himself by the name of Captain
Jeanniot, retired from the army. He said that he
wanted to build a house to his own liking and that
some one had suggested to him a plot of ground
situated near the Rue Raynouard.
"But that plot is not for sale," said Maitre
Valandier.
"Oh, I was told . . ."
"You have been misinformed, I fear."
The lawyer rose, went to a cupboard and returned
with a picture which he showed us. I was petrified.
It was the same picture which I had bought, the
same picture that hung in Louise d'Ernemont's room.
"This is a painting," he said, "of the plot of
ground to which you refer. It is known as the Clos
d'Ernemont."
"Precisely."
"Well, this close," continued the notary, "once
formed part of a large garden belonging to d'Erne-
mont, the farmer-general, who was executed during
the Terror. All that could be sold has been sold,
piecemeal, by the heirs. But this last plot has re-
mained and will remain in their joint possession . . .
unless . . ."
The notary began to laugh.


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 273
"Unless what?" asked Lupin.
"Well, it's a romance, a rather curious romance,
in fact. I often amuse myself by looking through
the voluminous documents of the case."
"Would it be indiscreet, if I asked . . .?"
"Not at all, not at all," declared Maitre Valan-
dier, who seemed delighted, on the contrary, to have
found a listener for his story. And, without wait-
ing to be pressed, he began: " At the outbreak of the
Revolution, Louis Agrippa d'Ernemont, on the pre-
tense of joining his wife, who was staying at Geneva
with their daughter Pauline, shut up his mansion in
the Faubourg Saint-Germain, dismissed his servants
and, with his son Charles, came and took up his abode
in his pleasure-house at Passy, where he was known
to nobody except an old and devoted serving-woman.
He remained there in hiding for three years and he
had every reason to hope that his retreat would not be
discovered, when, one day, after luncheon, as he was
having a nap, the old servant burst into his room.
She had seen, at the end of the street, a patrol of
armed men who seemed to be making for the house.
Louis d'Ernemont got ready quickly and, at the mo-
ment when the men were knocking at the front door,
disappeared through the door that led to the garden,
shouting to his son, in a scared voice, to keep them
talking, if only for five minutes. He may have in-
tended to escape and found the outlets through the
garden watched. In any case, he returned in six
or seven minutes, replied very calmly to the ques-
tions put to him and raised no difficulty about ac-


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 275
"The house at Passy was bought, for a mere
song, by a delegate of the Commune, the very man
who had arrested d'Ernemont, one Citizen Broquet.
Citizen Broquet shut himself up in the house, barri-
caded the doors, fortified the walls and, when
Charles d'Ernemont was at last set free and ap-
peared outside, received him by firing a musket at
him. Charles instituted one law-suit after another,
lost them all and then proceeded to offer large sums
of money. But Citizen Broquet proved intractable.
He had bought the house and he stuck to the house;
and he would have stuck to it until his death, if
Charles had not obtained the support of Bonaparte.
Citizen Broquet cleared out on the 12th of February,
1803 ; but Charles d'Ernemont's joy was so great and
his brain, no doubt, had been so violently unhinged
by all that he had gone through, that, on reaching the
threshold of the house of which he had at last re-
covered the ownership, even before opening the door
he began to dance and sing in the street. He had
gone clean off his head."
"By Jove!" said Lupin. "And what became of
him?"
"His mother and his sister Pauline, who had ended
by marrying a cousin of the same name at Geneva,
were both dead. The old servant-woman took care
of him and they lived together in the Passy house.
Years passed without any notable event; but, sud-
denly, in 1812, an unexpected incident happened.
The old servant made a series of strange revelations
on her death-bed, in the presence of two witnesses


276 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
whom she sent for. She declared that the farmer-
general had carried to his house at Passy a number
of bags filled with gold and silver and that those
bags had disappeared a few days before the arrest.
According to earlier confidences made by Charles
d'Ernemont, who had them from his father, the trea-
sures were hidden in the garden, between the
rotunda, the sun-dial and the well. In proof of her
statement, she produced three pictures, or rather, for
they were not yet framed, three canvases, which the
farmer-general had painted during his captivity and
which he had succeeded in conveying to her, with in-
structions to hand them to his wife, his son and his
daughter. Tempted by the lure of wealth, Charles
and the old servant had kept silence. Then came
the law-suits, the recovery of the house, Charles's
madness, the servant's own useless searches; and the
treasures were still there."
"And they are there now," chuckled Lupin.
"And they will be there always," exclaimed
Maitre Valandier. "Unless . . . unless Citizen
Broquet, who no doubt smelt a rat, succeeded in
ferreting them out. But this is an unlikely supposi-
tion, for Citizen Broquet died in extreme poverty."
"So then ...?"
"So then everybody began to hunt. The children
of Pauline, the sister, hastened from Geneva. It
was discovered that Charles had been secretly mar-
ried and that he had sons. All these heirs set to
work."
"But Charles himself?"


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 277
"Charles lived in the most absolute retirement.
He did not leave his room."
"Never?"
"Well that is the most extraordinary, the most
astounding part of the story. Once a year, Charles
d'Ernemont, impelled by a sort of subconscious will-
power, came downstairs, took the exact road which
his father had taken, walked across the garden and
sat down either on the steps of the rotunda, which
you see here, in the picture, or on the curb of the
well. At twenty-seven minutes past five, he rose
and went indoors again; and until his death, which
occurred in 1820, he never once failed to perform
this incomprehensible pilgrimage. Well, the day on
which this happened was invariably the 15th of
April, the anniversary of the arrest."
Maitre Valandier was no longer smiling and him-
self seemed impressed by the amazing story which
he was telling us.
"And, since Charles's death? " asked Lupin, after
a moment's reflection.
"Since that time," replied the lawyer, with a cer-
tain solemnity of manner, "for nearly a hundred
years, the heirs of Charles and Pauline d'Ernemont
have kept up the pilgrimage of the 15th of April.
During the first few years they made the most
thorough excavations. Every inch of the garden
was searched, every clod of ground dug up. All this
is now over. They take hardly any pains. All they
do is, from time to time, for no particular reason, to
turn over a stone or explore the well. For the most


280 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"What sum?"
"A thousand francs."
"And did this have the effect of frightening them
off?"
"No. Four years ago, an Hungarian hypnotist
tried the experiment and made me waste a whole
day. After that, we fixed the deposit at five thou-
sand francs. In case of success, a third of the
treasure goes to the finder. In case of failure, the
deposit is forfeited to the heirs. Since then, I have
been left in peace."
"Here are your five thousand francs."
The lawyer gave a start:
"Eh? What do you say?"
"I say," repeated Lupin, taking five bank-notes
from his pocket and calmly spreading them on the
table, " I say that here is the deposit of five thousand
francs. Please give me a receipt and invite all the
d'Ernemont heirs to meet me at Passy on the 15 th of
April next year."
The notary could not believe his senses. I myself,
although Lupin had accustomed me to these sur-
prises, was utterly taken back.
"Are you serious? " asked Maitre Valandier.
"Perfectly serious."
"But, you know, I told you my opinion. All
these improbable stories rest upon no evidence of
any kind."
"I don't agree with you," said Lupin.
The notary gave him the look which we give to a
person who is not quite right in his head. Then,


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 281
accepting the situation, he took his pen and drew up
a contract on stamped paper, acknowledging the
payment of the deposit by Captain Jeanniot and
promising him a third of such moneys as he should
discover.
"If you change your mind," he added, " you might
let me know a week before the time comes. I shall
not inform the d'Ernemont family until the last
moment, so as not to give those poor people too long
a spell of hope."
"You can inform them this very day, Mattre
Valandier. It will make them spend a happier
year."
We said good-bye. Outside, in the street, I cried:
"So you have hit upon something?"
"I?" replied Lupin. "Not a bit of it! And
that's just what amuses me."
"But they have been searching for a hundred
years!"
"It is not so much a matter of searching as of
thinking. Now I have three hundred and sixty-five
days to think in. It is a great deal more than I
want; and I am afraid that I shall forget all about
the business, interesting though it may be. Oblige
me by reminding me, will you?"
I reminded him of it several times during the fol-
lowing months, though he never seemed to attach
much importance to the matter. Then came a long
period during which I had no opportunity of seeing
him. It was the period, as I afterward learnt, of


THE SIGN OF THE SHADOW 291
"Oh, gratitude! . . . All humbug! . . . Where
should we honest men be if we had not our conscience
and the satisfaction of duty performed to reward
us?"





THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM
By Thomas W. Hanshew
I
"Oh, blow! " said Dollops disgustedly, as the tele-
phone bell jingled. "A body never gets a square
meal in this house now that that blessed thing's been
put in!" Then he laid down his knife and fork,
scuttled upstairs to the instrument, and unhooked the
receiver. "'Ullo! Wot's the rumpus? " he shouted
into it. "Yus, this is Captain Burbage's. Wot?
No, he ain't in. Dunno when he will be. Dunno
where he is. Who is it as wants him? If there's
any message"
The sound of some one whistling softly the open-
ing bars of the national anthem at the other end of
the wire cut in upon his words and filled him with a
sudden deep and startled interest.
"Oh, s'help me!" he said, with a sort of gasp.
"The Yard!" Then, lowering his voice to a shrill
whisper, "That you, Mr. Narkom? Beg yer par-
don, sir. Yus, it's me — Dollops. Wot? No, sir.
Went out two hours ago. Gone to Kensington
Palace Gardens. Tulips is out, and you couldn't
hold him indoors with a chain at tulip time. Yus,
sir — top hat, gray spats; same's the captain always
wears, sir."
From "Cleek, the Master Detective," Copyright, 1918, by
Doubleday, Page, & Company.
293


294 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
Narkom, at the other end of the line, called back:
"If I miss him, if he comes in without seeing me, tell
him to wait; I'll be round before three. Good-
by!" then hung up the receiver and turned to the
gentleman who stood by the window on the other
side of the private office agitatedly twirling the end
of his thick gray-threaded mustache with one hand,
while with the other he drummed a nervous tattoo
upon the broad oaken sill. "Not at home, Sir
Henry; but fortunately I know where to find him
with but little loss of time," he said, and pressed
twice upon an electric button beside his desk. "My
motor will be at the door in a couple of minutes, and
with ordinary luck we ought to be able to pick him up
inside of the next half hour."
Sir Henry—Sir Henry Wilding, Bart., to give him
his full name and title — a handsome, well set-up man
of about forty years of age, well groomed, and with
the upright bearing which comes of military training,
twisted round on his heel at this and gave the super-
intendent an almost grateful look.
"I hope so, God knows, I hope so, Mr. Narkom,"
he said agitatedly. "Time is the one important
thing at present. The suspense and uncertainty are
getting on my nerves so horribly that the very
minutes seem endless. Remember, there are only
three days before the race, and if those rascals, who-
ever they are, get at Black Riot before then, God
help me, that's all! And if this man Cleek can't
probe the diabolical mystery, they will get at her, too,
and put Logan where they put Tolliver, the brutes!"


296 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
dressing me. I am quite friendly with that police-
man yonder, and I do not wish him to suspect that
the elderly gentleman he is so kind to is in any way
connected with the Yard. Examine the tulips.
That's right. You came in your limousine, of
course? Where is it?"
"Just outside the gates, at the end of the path on
the right," replied Narkom, halting with Sir Henry
and appearing to be wholly absorbed in pointing out
the different varieties of tulips.
"Good," replied Cleek, apparently taking not the
slightest notice. "I'll toddle on presently, and
when you return from inspecting the flowers you will
find me inside the motor awaiting you."
"Do, old chap, and please hurry; time is every-
thing in this case. Let me introduce you to your
client. (Keep looking at the flowers, please, Sir
Henry.) I have the honor to make you acquainted
with Sir Henry Wilding, Cleek; he needs you, my
dear fellow."
"Delighted — in both instances. My compli-
ments, Sir Henry. By any chance that Sir Henry
Wilding whose mare, Black Riot, is the favorite for
next Wednesday's Derby?"
"Yes, that very man, Mr. Cleek; and if"
"Don't get excited and don't turn, please; our
friend the policeman is looking this way. What's
the case? One of 'nobbling '? Somebody trying
to get at the mare?"
"Yes. A desperate 'somebody,' who doesn't
stop even at murder. A very devil incarnate who.


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 297
seems to possess the power of invisibility and who
strikes in the dark. Save me, Mr. Cleek! All I've
got in the world is at stake, and if anything happens
to Black Riot, I'm a ruined man."
"Yar-r-r!" yawned the elderly sea captain, rising
and stretching. "I do believe, constable, I've been
asleep. Warm weather this for May. A glorious
week for Epsom. Shan't see you to-morrow, I'm
afraid. Perhaps shan't see you until Thursday.
Here, take that, my lad, and have half-a-crown's
worth on Black Riot for the Derby; she'll win it,
sure."
"Thanky, sir. Good luck to you, sir."
"Same to you, my lad. Good day." Then the
old gentleman in the top hat and gray spats moved
slowly away, passed down the tree-shaded walk,
passed the romping children, passed the Princess
Louise's statue of Queen Victoria, and, after a mo-
ment, vanished. Ten minutes later, when Narkom
and Sir Henry returned to the waiting motor, they
found him seated within it awaiting them, as he had
promised. Giving Lennard orders to drive about
slowly in the least frequented quarters, while they
talked, the superintendent got in with Sir Henry, and
opened fire on the " case " without further delay.
"My dear Cleek," he said, "as you appear to
know all about Sir Henry and his famous mare,
there's no need to go into that part of the subject, so
I may as well begin by telling you at once that Sir
Henry has come up to town for the express purpose
of getting you to go down to his place in Suffolk to-


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 299
"Hum-m-! " said Cleek, sucking in his lower lip.
"Mysterious, to say the least. Was there no strug-
gle? Did the men on guard hear no cry?"
"In the case of the first groom, Murple, the one
that was paralyzed — no," said Sir Henry, as the
question was addressed to him. "But in the case of
Tolliver — yes. The men heard him cry out, heard
him call out ' help!' but by the time they could get
the doors open it was all over. He was lying
doubled up before the entrance to Black Riot's stall,
with his face to the floor, as dead as Julius Caesar,
poor fellow, and not a sign of anybody anywhere."
"And the horse? Did anybody get at that?"
"No; for the best of reasons. As soon as these
attacks began, Mr. Cleek, I sent up to London. A
gang of twenty-four men came down, with steel
plates, steel joists, steel posts, and in seven hours'
time Black Riot's box was converted into a sort of
safe, to which I alone hold the key the instant it is
locked up for the night. A steel grille about half a
foot deep, and so tightly meshed that nothing bigger
than a mouse could pass through, runs all round the
enclosure close to the top of the walls, and this sup-
plies ventilation. When the door is closed at night,
it automatically connects itself with an electric gong
in my own bedroom, so that the slightest attempt to
open it, or even to touch it, would hammer out an
alarm close to my head."
"Has it ever done so?"
"Yes, last night, when Tolliver was killed."
"How killed, Sir Henry? Stabbed or shot?"


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 301
abruptly. "Is anybody interested in your not put-
ting Black Riot into the field on Derby Day? Any-
body with whom you have a personal acquaintance,
I mean, for of course I know there are other owners
who would be glad enough to see him scratched.
But is there anybody who would have a particular
interest in your failure?"
"Yes — one: Major Lambson-Bowles, owner of
Minnow. Minnow's second favorite, as perhaps
you know. It would delight Lambson-Bowles to see
me ' go under '; and, as I'm so certain of Black Riot
that I've mortgaged every stick and stone I have in
the world to back her, I should go under if anything
happened to the mare. That would suit Lambson-
Bowles down to the ground."
"Bad blood between you, then?"
"Yes, very. The fellow's a brute, and — I
thrashed him once, as he deserved, the bounder. It
may interest you to know that my only sister was his
first wife. He led her a dog's life, poor girl, and
death was a merciful release to her. Twelve
months ago he married a rich American woman,
widow of a man who made millions in hides and
leather. That's when Lambson-Bowles took up
racing and how he got the money to keep a stud.
Had the beastly bad taste, too, to come down to
Suffolk — within a gunshot of Wilding Hall — take
Elmslie Manor, the biggest place in the neighbor-
hood, and cut a dash under my very nose, as it
were."
"Oho! " said Cleek; " then the major is a neigh-


306 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
to the stables of Wilding Hall, and the baronet and
his gray-headed, bespectacled and gray-spatted com-
panion alighted, having taken five hours and a
quarter to make a journey which the trains which
run daily between Liverpool Street and Darsham
make in four.
As a matter of fact, however, they really had out-
stripped the train, but it had been Cleek's pleasure
to make two calls on the way, one at Saxmundham,
where the paralyzed Murple lay in the infirmary of
the local practitioner, the other at the mortuary
where the body of Tolliver was retained, awaiting the
sitting of the coroner. Both the dead and the still
living man Cleek had subjected to a critical personal
examination, but whether either furnished him with
any suggested clew he did not say. The only re-
mark he made upon the subject was when Sir Henry,
on hearing from Murple's wife that the doctor had
said he would probably not last the week out, had
inquired if the woman knew where to " put her hand
on the receipt for the payment of the last premium,
so that her claim could be sent in to the life assur-
ance company without delay when the end came."
"Tell me something, Sir Henry,'.' said Cleek,
when he heard that, and noticed how gratefully the
woman looked at the baronet when she replied,
"Yes, Sir Henry, God bless you, sir!" "Tell me,
if it is not an impertinent question, did you take out
an insurance policy on Murple's life and pay the
premium on it yourself? I gathered the idea that
you did from the manner in which the woman spoke
to you."


308 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
his master as Cleek stood on the threshold of the
stable, with his head thrown back and his chin at an
angle, sniffing the air somewhat after the manner of
a bird-dog. "Hur! If un's the best Scotland Yard
could let out to ye, sir, a half-baked old softy like
that, the rest of 'em must be a blessed poor lot,
Ah'm thinkin'. What's un doin' now, the noodle?
— snuffin' the air like he did not understand the
smell of it! He'd not be expectin' a stable to be
scented with eau de cologne, would he? What's un
name, sir?"
"Cleek."
"Hur! Sounds like a golf-stick an' Ah've no
doubt he's got a head like one: main thick and with
a twist in un. I dunna like 'tecs, Sir Henry, and I
dunna like this one especial. Who's to tell as he
aren't in with they devils as is after Black Riot?
Naw! I dunna like him at all."
Meantime, serenely unconscious of the displeas-
ure he had excited in Logan's breast, Cleek went on
sniffing the air and "poking about," as he phrased
it, in all corners of the stable; and when, a moment
later, Sir Henry went in and joined him, he was
standing before the door of the steel room examin-
ing the curving scratch of which the baronet had
spoken.
"What do you make of it, Mr. Cleek?"
"Not much in the way of a clew, Sir Henry, a clew
to any possible intruder, I mean. If your artistic
soul hadn't rebelled against bare steel, which would,
of course, have soon rusted in this ammonia-impreg-


310 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"Ah! Then who connected with the hall has
been?"
"Oh, I see what you are driving at," said Sir
Henry, following the direction of his gaze. "That
Patagonian plant, eh? That belonged to poor Tol-
liver. He had a strange fancy for ferns and rock
plants and things of that description, and as that
particular specimen happens to be one that does bet-
ter in the atmosphere of a stable than elsewhere, he
kept it in here."
"Who told him that it does better in the at-
mosphere of a stable?"
"Lady Wilding's cousin, Mr. Sharpless. It was
he who gave Tolliver the plant."
"Oho! Then Mr. Sharpless has been to South
America, has he?"
"Why, yes. As a matter of fact, he comes from
there; so also does Lady Wilding. I should have
thought you would have remembered that, Mr.
Cleek, when But perhaps you have never
heard? She — they — they — that is," stammer-
ing confusedly and coloring to the temples, "up to
seven months ago, Mr. Cleek, Lady Wilding was on
the — er — music-hall stage. She and Mr. Sharp-
less were known as ' Signor Morando and Le Belle
Creole' and they did a living statue turn together.
It was highly artistic; people raved; I — er — fell
in love with the lady and — that's all!"
But it wasn't; for Cleek, reading between the lines,
saw that the mad infatuation which had brought the
lady a title and an over-generous husband had sim-


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 313
"Thanky, sir, 'bliged to un, sir," said Logan, as
Sharpless hung up the shotgun and, with a word to
the baronet, excused himself and went in to dress
for dinner. Then he faced round again on Cleek,
who was once more sniffing the air, and pointed to
the rude bed: "There's where Ted Logan sleeps
this night — there!" he went on suddenly; "and
them as tries to get at Black Riot comes to grips with
me first, me and the shotgun Mr. Sharpless has left
Ah. And if Ah shoot, Lunnon Mister, Ah shoot to
kill!"
Cleek turned to the baronet.
"Do me a favor, Sir Henry," he said. "For rea-
sons of my own, I want to be in this stable alone for
the next ten minutes, and after that let no one come
into it until morning. I won't be accountable for
this man's life if he stops in here to-night, and for
his sake, as well as for your own, I want you to for-
bid him to do so."
Logan seemed to go nearly mad with rage at this.
"Ah won't listen to it! Ah will stop here, Ah
will! Ah will!" he cried out in a passion. "Who
comes ull find Ah here waitin' to come to grips with
un. Ah won't stop out — Ah won't! Don't un
listen to Lunnon Mister, Sir Henry, for God's sake,
don't!"
"I am afraid I must, in this instance, Logan.
You are far too suspicious, my good fellow. Mr.
Cleek doesn't want to ' get at' the mare; he wants
to protect her: to keep anybody else from getting
at her, so join the guard outside if you are so eager.


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 315
His last wakeful recollection was of the clock in
the lower corridor striking the first quarter after
eleven; then sleep claimed him, and he knew no more
until all the stillness was suddenly shattered by a
loud-voiced gong hammering out an alarm and the
sound of people tumbling out of bed and scurrying
about in a panic of fright. He jumped out of bed,
pulled on his clothing, and rushed out into the hall,
only to find it alive with startled people, and at their
head Sir Henry, with a dressing-gown thrown on
over his pajamas and a bedroom candle in his shak-
ing hand.
"The stable!" he cried out excitedly. "Come
on, come on, for God's sake. Some one has touched
the door of the steel room; and yet the place was left
empty, empty!"
But it was no longer empty, as they found out
when they reached it, for the doors had been flung
open, the men who had been left on guard outside
the stables were now inside it, the electric lights were
in full blaze, the shotgun still hanging where Sharp-
less had left it, the impromptu bed was tumbled and
tossed in a man's death agony, and at the foot of the
steel door Logan lay, curled up in a heap and stone
dead!
"He would get in, Sir Henry; he'd have shot one
or the other of us if we hadn't let him," said one of
the outer guards, as Sir Henry and Cleek appeared.
"He would lie before the door and watch, sir, he
simply would; and God have mercy on him, poor
chap; he was faithful to the last!"


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 317[
In another instant Black Riot was led out, unin-
jured, untouched, in the very pink of condition and,
in spite of the tragedy and the dead man's presence,
one or two of the guards were so carried away that
they essayed a cheer.
"Stop that! Stop it instantly!" rapped out Sir
Henry, facing round upon them. "What's a horse,
even the best, beside the loss of an honest life like
that? " and flung out a shaking hand in the direction
of dead Logan. "It will be the story of last night
over again, of course? You heard his scream, heard
his fall, but he was dead when you got to him —
dead — and you found no one here?"
"Not a soul, Sir Henry. The doors were all
locked; no grille is missing from any window; no
one is in the loft; no one in any of the stalls; no one
in any crook or corner of the place."
"Send for the constable, the justice of the peace,
anybody!" chimed in the Rev. Ambrose Smeer at
this. "Henry, will you never be warned; never
take these awful lessons to heart? This sinful
practice of racing horses for money"
"Oh, hush, hush! Don't preach me a sermon
now, uncle," interposed Sir Henry. "My heart's
torn, my mind crazed by this abominable thing.
Poor old Logan! Poor, faithful old chap! Oh!"
He whirled and looked over at Cleek, who still stood
inactive, staring at the flour-dusted floor. "And
they said that no mystery was too great for you to
get at the bottom of it, no riddle too complex for
you to find the answer. Can't you do something?


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM 319
And as he stepped aside on saying this, those who
were watching, those who heard Lady Wilding's
scream and Mr. Sharpless's snarling oath and saw
them vainly try to spring apart and dart away, saw
also that a steel handcuff was on the woman's wrist,
its mate on the man's left one, and that they were
firmly chained together.
"In the name of heaven, man," began Sir Henry,
appalled by this, and growing red and white by
rapid turns.
"I fancy that heaven has very little to do with
this precious pair, Sir Henry," interposed Cleek.
"You want the two people who are accountable for
these diabolical crimes, and there they stand."
"What! Do you mean to tell me that Sharpless,
that my wife"
"Don't give the lady a title to which she has not
and never had any legal right, Sir Henry. If it had
ever occurred to you to emulate my example to-night
and search the lady's effects, you would have found
that she was christened Enriqua Dolores Torjada,
and that she was married to Sefior Filippo Bucarelli
here, at Valparaiso in Chili, three years ago, and
that her marriage to you was merely a clever little
scheme to get hold of a pot of money and share it
with her rascally husband."
"It's a lie!" snarled out the male prisoner.
"It's an infernal policeman's lie! You never found
any such thing!"
"Par Jon me, but I did," replied Cleek serenely.
"And what's more, I found the little phial of corian-
j


320 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
der and oil of sassafras in your room, senor, and I
shall finish off the Mynga Worm in another ten min-
utes!"
Bucarelli and his wife gave a mingled cry, and,
chained together though they were, made a wild bolt
for the door; only, however, to be met on the
threshold by the local constable to whom Geek had
dispatched a note some hours previously.
"Thank you, Mr. Philpotts; you are very
prompt," he said. "There are your prisoners nicely
trussed and waiting for you. Take them away, we
are quite done with them here. Sir Henry "— he
turned to the baronet—" if Black Riot is fitted to
win the Derby she will win it and you need have no
more fear for her safety. No one has ever for one
moment tried to get at her. You yourseff were the
one that precious pair were after, and the bait was
your life assurance. By killing off the watchers over
Black Riot one by one, they knew that there would
come a time, when, being able to get no one else
to take the risk of guarding the horse and sleeping
on that bed before the steel-room door, you would
do it yourself; and when that time came they would
have had you."
"But how? By what means?"
"By one of the most diabolical imaginable.
Among the reptiles of Patagonia, Sir Henry, there
is one, a species of black adder, known in the coun-
try as the Mynga Worm whose bite is more deadly
than that of the rattler or the copperhead, and as
rapid in its action as prussic acid itself. It has, too,


322 FAMOUS DETECTIVE STORIES
"Get spades, forks, anything, and dig a hole out-
side in the paddock," he went on. "Make a deep
hole, a yard deep at the least — then get some straw,
some paraffin, turpentine, anything that will burn
furiously and quickly, and we will soon finish the
little beast."
The servants flew to obey, and when the hole was
dug, he carried the bag out and lowered it carefully
into it, covered it with straw, drenched this with a
gallon or more of lamp oil, and rapidly applied a
match to it and sprang back.
A moment later those who were watching saw a
small black snake make an ineffectual effort to leap
out of the blazing mass, fall back into the flames,
and disappear forever.
"This method of procedure?" said Cleek, an-
swering the baronet's query as the latter was pouring
out what he called " a nerve settler " prior to follow-
ing the Rev. Ambrose's example and going to bed.
"Very cunning, and yet very, very simple, Sir Henry.
Bucarelli made a practice, as I saw this evening, of
helping the chosen watcher to make his bed on the
floor in front of the door to the steel room, but dur-
ing the time he was removing the blankets from the
cupboard his plan was to smear them with the
coriander and sassafras and so arrange the top
blanket that when the watcher lay down, the stuff
touched his neck or throat and made that the point
of attack for the snake, whose fang makes a small
round spot not bigger than the end of a knitting








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